Home
by Future Memory
Summary: Elena has everything she has ever wanted - she lives in a city of her dreams, her career is heading in the right direction, she has a best friend ever and a boyfriend - who proposes! There's just one small problem.. Elena is already married. Stelena, AU, all human.
1. Chapter 1

_**Hello! And welcome back. This story, I promise, will be a bit more lighter and cheerful and, well, hopefully funnier. No unhappy endings or terminal illnesses, I swear. A bit of pain, a bit of drama, and a lot more of Stefan's pov than in the last story, where there was none, even though 70% of it will be written from Elena's pov.**_

_**Enjoy your reading!**_

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><p>There's nothing like winter in New York. The whole city morphs itself into something more beautiful, radiant, it turns into a wonderland decorated by a glowing, white cover. Even the snow shines in New York, capturing its absolute beauty. During the winter, it's always dark here, especially with all these trees surrounding us, so they never turn the street lamps off. Among the trees, whose thin, bald branches are covered in snow, they look like giant fireflies. I move through Central Park, heading straight towards my favorite bagel cart, where the dough is extra mushy and extra, <em>extra<em> greasy. Locals call it _one-step-closer-to-the-heart-attack_ cart, but I figure there are worse things that can cause a heart attack than breakfast with few calories more than a breakfast should have.

I've replaced heels with boots, for which I'm grateful for, since I've never been a big fan of heels. No ones feet should bend like that - it's unnatural. But they're considered a proper footwear of every professional woman, so it's not like I have much choice, until weather does its magic and I'm back in my warm, fuzzy Jimmy Choo boots.

There's already a line of people in front of the bagel cart, so I take a sip of my _too-hot-to-drink_ coffee to warm myself up, and I burn the tip of my tongue. Totally worth it, though. I'm a coffee addict, always have been, and for a girl who comes from one Starbucks town, moving in to a city where they offer you coffee on every corner is a dream come true.

"I'm not saying you shouldn't be honest at all," my editor says with a squeaky voice over the phone, "All I'm saying is that you should be less honest."

One of winter setbacks - gloves. My damn phone keeps slipping out of my hand.

I cock my eyebrow when her words hit my brain in their full extent. "Meaning?" I ask, but at the same time trying to tell the guy I'll have one bagel. He seems to get it. Maybe he's already remembered me, I'm here every morning for the past two years, but then again, so are many other people.

I can hear her sigh, tired of having this conversation with me time after time after time. "You're not a columnist, Elena," she points out, and I add quietly - _yet_. If she heard me, she doesn't comment on it. "No one cares about your opinion. No one cares what you think about it. All they care about are facts. That's what they expect when they open the magazine."

I take the bagel and give the guy two bucks, mouthing a low _thank you_ to him, with a smile on my face. He nods. He's probably used to people on their phones, unable to communicate with him normally.

I have some trouble with juggling my phone, coffee cup and a bagel in my hands, so I keep my phone pressed between my shoulder and my ear until I find a more comfortable solution.

"So, what you're saying is that I should do my job like some mindless robot?"

"Exactly!" a wave of surprise erupts from her, pleased that we're finally on the same page. I roll my eyes. I should really work on my sarcasm some more. "When are you going to be at the office?"

"Umm, ten minutes, tops." I hope. If I don't get a strong urge to run into a moving bus on my way over there.

"Excellent! I have to go now, but I'll send you your text back with everything that needs correcting. I expect you to do it by tonight?" that sentence sounds like a question, but she's not really asking.

"Of course." What other choice do I have? It's not like I can tell my boss I won't do it, not unless I want to keep my job.

She says goodbye to me, but hangs up before I get a chance to reply. I exhale, slipping my phone in my bag, munching on my bagel, which is not as half as delicious now that I have all this anger and annoyance hanging over my head. Great, she didn't only ruin my mood, she ruined food for me as well. When does it stop?

The reason why I got into writing is to I express my opinion. I've always had so much, maybe sometimes even too much, to say. But as it turns out, you don't deserve getting heard just by wanting to let your voice out. You have to start from the bottom. I should be thankful, at least I'm not bringing them coffee anymore. At least I get to actually write now, even if it's not what I want to be writing about.

I finish my bagel and my coffee, and I don't run into a moving bus. Instead, I arrive at the office in exactly ten minutes, only to find Bonnie sitting on my desk, reading a magazine, her crossed legs falling out of her beige colored pencil skirt. She is wearing heels, just like she always does. Her bones probably changed their shape and position by now, to match her footwear.

When she sees me approaching, she smirks. "Talked to the _she devil_?" she closes the magazine and drops it back on my desk.

I frown at the thought of her. She's not at the office a lot, thankfully, so I don't have to look at her all the time. She has a more important job than hours, like brunches, and lunches, and dinners. Also fashion shows and wine tasting.

"How did you know?"

Bonnie shrugs, her shoulders bobbing up, then down, in a slow motion. "You have that look on your face."

"_No one wants to know what you think, Elena,_" I imitate her squeaky, mouse like voice while hanging my coat over my chair and dropping my bag next to my laptop. I turn it on, anticipating to see what in my text really needs correcting.

She chuckles. "One time, she told me that we need our clients more than they need us, so we can't talk shit about them, even if it's true. We're not a tabloid."

I look at Bonnie, trying to catch the look on her face. The thing is, that's true, we're not a tabloid, we're a respected magazine, and we need clients who trust us more than they need us. There are other magazines out there; it's a battlefield.

My problem is not with the words she says, but with a manner in which she says them. She can make you feel so small, so unmotivated, so unable of accomplishing anything.

"Anyway," Bonnie says after our short period of silence, "You up for a girls night out tonight?"

"I can't," I give her a sympathetic, puppy eyes look, "I promised Matt we would go out for a dinner tonight," I furrow my brows when I remember his words, "He says there's something he needs to tell me, and that it's serious."

"Oooooh," Bonnie says with a singing voice, slapping me on the shoulder with the tip of her fingers, "Maybe he wants you to meet his parents."

I laugh. "I've already met his parents," his mom is a housewife obsessed with collecting dog figurines, and his dad is a lawyer, just like Matt. I don't know how those two people found themselves in the same room, let alone stayed married for 28 years.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asks, horrified at the thought I would keep a secret from her.

"I did. You were drunk, so you don't remember," I point out.

"I told you not to tell me important thing when I'm drunk!"

"Well, that's hard since you're drunk, like, always."

"That's true," she shrugs, "Man, I gotta cut down with putting rum in my coffee."

I love Bonnie, I really do, but we're so different, despite the fact that we're best friends. She never got out of her New York party girl phase, while I, well, never got into it. She comes to work straight from a club, while I need at least an hour to prepare myself for just leaving my apartment. I want to build a career in this magazine, while Bonnie thinks that she's just passing by here. Earning her rent, until something better or more entertaining comes along. She's a born New Yorker, I'm not - I'm still trying to adapt. We're polar opposites, but I know that I can always count on her, and she knows that she can always count on me. I guess that's all that matters, how we treat each other, not how well our personalities match or, in our case, don't.

"Anyway, I think he wants to tell me he got a promotion, but doesn't know how because I'm so bummed about my own job," I say, feeling guilty for making him feel like that. Afraid of telling me something important, if even that is the case. I want him to be able to tell me anything. I want him to know that I would never want anything less than success for him, even if that's not in the cards for me right now.

I open my mail. "Oh my God!" I exclaim before Bonnie gets a chance to reply to my previous statement.

"What?" she asks, jumping off of my table and moving next to me.

"Look!" I point at my screen, horrified by the sight in front of me, "The whole text is red! She expects me to rewrite everything!?"

"Oh man," Bonnie shakes her head, "So I guess you're not free for lunch today?"

I move my eyes from the screen to her, giving her a pointed look. "Get out."

* * *

><p>When I get home, it's 8:30pm. I'm late. Like, two and half hours late. I'm usually home by 6pm.<p>

Matt is sitting in the living room, all dressed up, staring at the floor. When he hears my footsteps thumping against our freshly polished hardwood floor, he looks at me.

"I'm so, so, _soooo_ sorry," I emphasize the word _so_, when I should be emphasizing the word sorry. "I was swamped in work, so I lost track of time," I try to excuse myself, even though I know that that doesn't even begin to cover it.

It's not an excuse, though, it's the truth. After my editor sent me my text back, work just kept piling up, and I didn't even realize what time it is, not until Bonnie walked into my office and reminded me I promised Matt dinner tonight.

"You're late," is all he says, as if he didn't even hear the word I said since I walked into the room.

"I know, I know," I move closer to him, putting my palms defensively in front of myself, "Just give me 15 minutes and I'll be ready."

"It doesn't matter, Elena," he raises his voice, clearly angry at me for being late. He has a full right to be, I broke my promise. "Our reservation was at 7:30pm. We lost our table by now. Where were you?" the soft lines of his face adapt a sharp edge and his whole face darkens.

"I told you, I was at work.." I sound like a broken record. How many times have I used that sentence as an excuse this year already? And to think that the year has only started..

He exhales loudly, tiredly. At one point, I expect him to say that he can't do this anymore, but he doesn't. "Elena, when I told you to work hard to push yourself to the very top, I didn't mean this. You don't have to work overtime. What you have to do is be patient." I hate it when he talks to me like this, like I'm a child. As if he knows any better. He can't even begin to understand how hard it is for me. For someone who came into this city with nothing but a bag full of clothes and few hundred dollars in her purse. His father is a big shot lawyer, his name is everywhere. No one dares to say no to him, they just keep opening doors for him, and he has the luxury of choosing.

I, on the other hand, am very easy to say no to.

But I don't fight him. I rarely do. "I know.." I look away, wondering when did I lose my ability to fight for myself and for what I believe in. Life in this city gave me so much, but it also took so much away from me. "Let's just.. let's stay in, order Thai and you can tell me whatever you wanted to tell me," I say nervously.

He looks at me, his heavenly blue eyes piercing through mine, and I can see him weighing his options - he can either stay mad at me, or just let it go and enjoy what's left of our evening. When his face softens, I know that he chose the later.

He slides away, freeing up some space for me to sit on the sofa next to him. "Come," he taps the black leather of the sofa.

I've always hated that sofa. I hate almost everything in this apartment, because it's not ours, it's his. When he proposed we live together, it seemed logical for me to move in with him, since his apartment was way bigger than mine. But that meant leaving all of my stuff behind, as little of them as I had. I came here so I can finally have something of my own, something I've achieved by myself, but somehow I've ended up living someone else's life.

I do as he says, though, and sit next to him.

"Elena.." he sucks some air through his teeth, "We've been dating for quite some time. Two years, to be exact," there are beads of sweat on his forehead. He's not looking me in the eyes, he's looking at my hands. His lips are trembling a little, and he keeps pulling at his sleeves. He's clearly nervous.

_Oh my God._ Is he going to break up with me?

That thought frightens me and calms me down at the same time, and I don't know what to make of such contradicting emotions. I don't want to lose him. I love him. We started something here, something good, even though there are times when I feel like this is.. wrong. Like he's holding me down, like he doesn't understand me, like we're not on the same page.

But a relationship is made of both good and bad things, and you have to learn how to handle the bad in order to experience the good.

"And in those two years you've made me so happy. You made my life better in every possible way," he reaches for my hand and takes it in his. His palm is slippery with sweat. "Living with you is a pleasure I never even dreamed about, and sharing my life with you, well, it's something I really don't want to ever end."

My eyes go wide with surprise. You don't say something like that to someone with whom you're about to break up with, right?

I look at him, like, really look at him. He's wearing a suit with my favorite button down shirt of his, the baby blue one that brings out his eyes. There's a shy look on his face, the same look he gets whenever he's about to ask me something that might change both of our lives. He had the same look when he asked me to move in together, the look of a boy who's asking for more candy even though he knows he's had more than enough. There's a nervous look in his eyes, but he's also excited. Happy.

He reaches for his pocket with his free hand.

_Oh my God._ He's not breaking up with me.

A small, black box appears on his palm. He falls on his knees, still holding my hand, squeezing his fingers around my fist.

_He's proposing._

"You gave me so much, and now I'm going to be so selfish to ask for one more thing," he opens the box with the tip of his thumb. He does it so easily, like he's been practicing for this moment. "For you to become my wife."

I should be happy. No, I should be jumping from joy, grabbing the ring, sliding that giant rock down my finger and pulling him in for a hug. I should shower him with kisses and take him to our bedroom to show him exactly how glad I am to have him in my life. I should be ecstatic. But I'm not, because I've stopped listening to him halfway. I can't hear why my heart nor my mind want me to tell him because some other name is going through my head.

_Stefan._

_Stefan. Stefan._

_Stefan. Stefan. Stefan._

He's falls quiet. He's looking at me, expecting me to answer. He's afraid I'll turn him down, and with every second that I stay quiet, his fear grows, so I kill that nagging voice inside of my head and smile at him, widely.

I've drowned my past a long time ago, and with a good reason.

"Yes," I say, trying to sound as excited as possible, "Of course I'll marry you!"

* * *

><p>When I get to the office the next day, I immediately find Bonnie and pull her to the side, away from all prying eyes. And ears.<p>

"Woah!" she exclaims as I drag her into my office, "Slow down. I'm hangover. Or still drunk. Not sure."

I bring my hand in the air and start waving it in front of her face. Her eyes go wide when she sees the blinding rock on my ring finger.

"I have to ask, are you aware that there's a Grand Canyon on your freaking finger?" she steadies my hand with her fingers in order to get a better look.

"Matt proposed," I say.

She shifts her attention from my finger to my face. "No shit!" she makes a _duh_ face, "I take it you said yes."

"Well, yeah," I look at the ring on my finger.

"Okay, that's not a response of the future blushing bride," Bonnie narrows her eyes, scolding me with her look, "If you don't want to marry him, why did you say yes then?"

I furrow my brows, bringing them closer together until there's just a small patch of skin between them. "What makes you think I don't want to marry him?"

"Because, if you really wanted to marry him, you would already have ten different kinds of bridal magazines in your hands and we would have ditched this place, like, an hour ago, to go celebrate your sudden engagement with champagne and strawberries."

I pull my hand away, irritated by this situation I've found myself in. I never told Bonnie anything about my past, or the person I was before I came here. As far as I'm concerned that girl is dead, and the place where she came from magically disappeared from the face of the Earth.

"Of course I want to marry Matt. I love him. He's caring and thoughtful and driven," I say with ease, "Plus, he's super hot, which doesn't hurt."

"So why are you hiding your ring finger instead of rubbing it in everyone's faces?"

I bite my lower lip, trying to decide what I should do. I can tell her the truth, finally, or I can think of an excuse, which would be futile. Bonnie knows me well enough to see beyond my lies.

"Okay.." I say, inhaling deeply, trying to find the right words to explain to her why the idea of marrying Matt doesn't excite me as it should. "I can't marry Matt, because I'm already married," I blurt out in one breath.

I'm met with dead silence from her part. She just keeps staring at me with a serious look on her face.

And then, she breaks into laughter. "I'm sorry," she says between two strikes of laughter, "I thought you just said that you're already married, which is funny, because if my best friend got married, I would have known."

I don't say anything to that, I just keep looking at her, waiting for her initial surprise to pass, so she can take this situation seriously.

She continues laughing for another thirty seconds, more or less, and then her laughter turns into a nervous chuckle. "Oh my God!" she finally exclaims, "You're serious! Why don't I know about this? And don't tell me I was drunk," she points her finger at me, "Because I would have remembered this no matter how drunk I was!"

"You know I don't like talking about my past.."

"I know, which is why I never asked, but I have to ask now.." she says, almost apologetically, "How? When? Why?"

I sigh. I don't like thinking about my past, or talking about it, because then I'll have to deal with it, and that requires strength that I don't have. I like my past how it is - locked in a box I lost a key to.

"It's something I did when I was young. It was rash and I didn't really think it through." It's the half truth. I don't tell her I was madly in love. I don't tell her that he was my best friend and my lover and the only person I ever wanted to share my life with. I don't tell her the truth I'm desperately trying to forget.

"So that's the only thing standing between you and eternal happiness? A failed teenage marriage?" she cocks her eyebrow at me.

I nod, swallowing hard, my throat burning as if I'm trying to push burning coal through it.

"Well, what are you going to do about it then?"

"Crawl into a hole with a year supply of chocolate and cry?" I propose jokingly. Or not.

"No, you're gonna drag your ass down there and demand divorce, that's what you're gonna do!" she stabs my shoulder with the tip of her finger, driving it into my flesh, "Even if I have to drag you down there myself!"

Me? To go home? What a joke..

But what other choice do I have? I guess I could just get a lawyer to send him the divorce papers, but.. what if he doesn't sign them? What if he never sends them back? What if Matt finds out?

I'm finally where I always wanted to be. Away from a crappy town, away from small minded people, in a city that I adore, with a job that I like, aiming for a job that I've always dreamed of, engaged to a guy who's as close to perfect as they get. Am I really going to let my past get in the way of being happy?

I haven't seen Stefan in years. I'm not in love with him anymore, and he's not in love with me anymore, that's for sure. He wasn't in love with me when I left, either. All I have to do is show up there, serve him the divorce papers and be done with it. All I need from him is his signature on a piece of paper.

"Well then, I guess I'm going home."

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><p><em><strong>So, how do you like the first chapter? Are you interested enough for me to keep writing this story?<strong>_


	2. Chapter 2

I've been thinking, which rarely ends well, and I've come to a conclusion. I have two options. First one is that I tell the truth. To everyone. I can use my sick or vacation days at work, since I haven't used any in three years I've been working here. I can tell Matt why I'm really going home - when I was 18 I got married, it lasted only for a couple of years, we got separated under bad terms, and then I moved here. But we didn't get a divorce, because.. because it's complicated. Complicated in a way that at 23 years old I didn't quite understand and, frankly, I don't understand it now either. And then if he, by some miracle, still wants to marry me, I go home, ask my ex husband to sign the papers, come back to New York and marry the love of my life. It's as simple as that.

My second option is to lie, which is a lot less simple, but everyone who really know me know that I've never been a simple person. So I opt for complicated.

"Tell me again how this benefits me?" my editor chews on the top of her pen, looking at me with wide, confused eyes, as if she can't comprehend what I'm trying to say here. I know that she meant to say how this benefits _us_, as in the magazine, because this magazine is more or less her life, and she identifies with it. So when she says _me_, she means the magazine.

"Okay," I squirm in my chair, trying to find the best words to convince her to let me do this, "You always say you want to expand our audience, broaden our views, right? You don't want this magazine to be a typical magazine for New Yorkers because a lot of people in this city are not born and raised New Yorkers," I struggle to make my point.

She stops chewing on her pen and nods. It seems that I got her attention with this. Honestly, she seems a bit surprised as well, I don't think she thinks I've been listening to her ideas and wishes.

"I'm one of those people," I point out, "I come from a small town, where people lead very different lives, in a different pace and with different intentions. I've been meaning to go home for quite some time," I lie. I never meant to go home ever again. "So let me write this," I try to convince her.

But she's not fully convinced. Far from that, actually. "I don't know, Elena," she wiggles her lips. I'm losing her attention, and patience. "That's a big investment," her eyes grow wide, basically turning green with dollar signs.

"I know," I say firmly to show her that I've taken that into account as well, "Which is why we make a test pilot out of it. I'll make a draft before I go so we can publish it on the website and share it on social sites to see the feedback. I'll have the whole article ready for publication in time for the next issue," my voice gets excited, like I'm really looking forward to this.

"I don't know.." she's tempted by the idea, but I can see the wheels in her head turning, going through all the possible dangers and losses of this project, "It's too soon, the next issue is practically already made.."

"Oh, come on Katherine!" I raise my voice, but still keeping it light, "We both know that can be changed. You're always telling us you want new and fresh ideas, and now when I have one, you're not sure. Take a risk. If there's not much interest, we give up on it," which I'm hoping for. Why would people who ran away from small towns want to be reading about them when they live in the best city in the world? I know that I don't want to make my career out of traveling from one forgotten place to another.

She looks at me, surprised that I would stand up for this so fiercely, when I had only one goal ever since I came working here, which is writing my own column. She still seems unsure about it, but after some time of chewing her lip and playing with her pen, her look grows determined and she drops the pen on the table. "Okay," she says, "Deal."

Even though I wanted her to agree, I'm a bit stricken when she actually does. "Deal?" I stammer a little.

"Yes!" she throws her hands in the air, "Now go along before I change my mind," she squints at me, like she's trying to make me disappear just by using her mind.

"Umm," I say while standing up, "Sure. Okay. Thank you," I will myself to smile.

"You better have a draft ready by tomorrow night!" she yells at me just before I close the doors to her office.

I can barely hear her, though, because all I keep thinking about is that the easy part is done. Now comes to hard part - Matt.

* * *

><p>"You're going home?" he watches me confused as I pile my stuff, one on top of the other, in the biggest suitcase I own.<p>

"Yes," I reply, trying to avoid looking him in the eyes, "It's primarily a work thing. Believe me, I wasn't too happy about it," I lie, hoping to all the possible powers that I know of that I'm coming of as conceivable, "But then I thought - why not? It's a perfect chance to visit my family and tell them about.. us."

"I thought you've already told your family about me?" I can hear disdain in his voice. Confusion. Fear. Disappointment.

"I have.." I say wearily. I don't know why the nature of his question pulls the wrong strings of my brain, causing me the feeling of unease.

It's the truth. Of course I haven't forgotten about my parents, or stopped all contact with them. I call them regularly. They even came to visit me, twice, in the beginning. Before Matt. They asked me a million times to come visit them as well. They ask every Christmas. And every time, I refuse them.

"I just haven't told them about.." I point at the ring he had put on my hand, "Us. I wanted to tell them eye to eye."

"Oh," he says, a bit relieved, "Should I, um, go with you, maybe?"

I jerk my head towards him, my eyes growing wide. "No!" I shriek, horrified by the thought. Maybe a little bit too horrified.

He looks surprised by my sudden reaction, if not a bit hurt.

"I mean, it's not like I'm going on a vacation, it's for work.." I walk over to him, draping my arms around his neck, "We're going to arrange for you to meet them some other time. I promise," I get on my toes to give him a little butterfly kiss on the lips.

He puts his arms around me to pull me closer. "When does your plane leave?" he breathes into me, and I can read his intentions from the tone of his voice.

"Hmm," I smile knowingly, "Not for another three hours. Why?" I ask teasingly, biting at my lower lip.

His fingers sink into my flesh, and his lips cover mine, stealing my breath, which is how he tells me why.

* * *

><p>I call my parents from the airport to inform them that I'm coming home. My mother screams into the phone. She almost starts crying. I can hear my father trying to calm her down, taking the phone out of her hands. He jokes, asking me do I even remember how to get to their house. It's weird hearing him call it their house because, in my mind, it's still our house. I still think of it as mine, even though I left it a long time ago, even before I left the town. A part of me never left that place, and I know it, even though I'm trying desperately to pull it away.<p>

My plane lands in Charlotte, and I have to take the bus all the way to Darling. It's an hour and a half long ride and it gives me some time to think about how everything might go down. How he might react when he sees me. How ugly things might get. Two days after Matt proposed to me, I went to the lawyer to see how the whole procedure of filing for a divorce works. As it turns out, it's fairly easy. He's going to e-mail me the papers in a couple of days, which means I have enough time to gather courage to a) go see Stefan and b) tell him why I'm really here. It shouldn't be too hard. It's been 6 years, we're both over each other. He'll probably be happy to get a chance to be rid of me legally as well as physically and spiritually.

The bus leaves me at a little, abandoned station at the very entrance to the town of Darling. Population: 2, 380. There's an old man sitting in a little house where they sell tickets, watching me curiously. There are not a lot visitors here, so new faces never go unnoticed. For a moment, I think about asking him to call me a cab, until I remember that Darling does not have a cab service. My father sold his truck after his health got worse - after two heart attacks, everyone thought it's unwise and unsafe for him to drive.

I start walking, pulling my suitcase after me, down a dirty little path, because what other choice do I have? Thankfully, Darling is a tiny town, and my parents house is not too far from here. I walk for approximately 15 minutes before I reach their house. It's the same as I remember it - tiny white house behind a tiny white fence, with brown shutters and brown doors. My mother still has that cherry themed curtain hanging on her kitchen window. I walk into the front yard, wondering who mows their lawn now. Stefan used to do it after my father fell too ill to do such physically demanding jobs. I set my foot on the first out of the two rusty steps. It still squeaks when you stand on it, making that annoying sound, like someone is pulling their fingernails across the board.

I knock on the door. It doesn't take my mother long to open - she's probably been waiting in the close proximity ever since I called to tell them that I'll be coming to visit.

"Elena!" she shrieks my name, piercing my eardrums, "Look at you! Oh, just look at you!" tears start swelling in her eyes, and all it took was one look at me. "Oh, come here!" she pulls me into a hug. My head falls on her shoulder, and I dig my nose into her wavy, brown hair that smells like fresh strawberries and vanilla.

I've always associated that scent with home.

"Good grief, woman!" I hear my fathers deep, belly aching voice, "Let her in!"

But my mother refuses to let me go, so I put my arms around her as well, greeting her gently. "Hi, mom," I whisper into her hair, the corners of my lips twitching into a soft smile.

"My baby!" she whimpers, detaching herself away from me, but putting her strong hands on my shoulders, digging her fingertips into my flesh, "Are you hungry? You look awfully skinny! Doesn't she look skinny, Grayson?" she looks at my father who's looking at me with curiosity. There's a certain amount of distance between us. When he looks at me, he can't see his daughter anymore. He can see a stranger in me as well.

"She looks fine, Miranda," he breaks our eye contact to brush my mother off, "Let her in."

My mother moves away from the door, so I wrap my fingers around the handle of my suitcase and roll it inside, pulling it over the doorstep onto my parents scratched wooden floor.

"Hi dad," I put one of my arms around my fathers neck, getting on my toes to kiss him on the cheek.

"Hi pumpkin," he gives me a kiss in return, squeezing me tightly around my waist.

We enter the kitchen where nothing has changed since the last time I've been here. The same small table with four chairs around it is settled under the window. The old refrigerator is still producing that same annoying sound that keeps you awake at night. There's still a dent in the doors of one of the kitchen elements I've made when I was four years old. I crashed into it with my tricycle after my mom told me at least ten times not to ride it inside of the house.

"I've made sweet potatoes with cream, some fried chicken and, your favorite, apple pie with an extra dash of cinnamon!" my mother exclaims excitedly, sitting me at the table, like she had all that food prepared for years, just waiting for the day I would decide to come home.

"When did you have time to make all of that?" I cock my eyebrow in her direction.

"She's been cookin' and bakin' ever since you called," my dad clarifies, "That was the only way to calm her down."

I look at my mother, feeling guilty. I should have come home sooner, more often. I could have at least brought them to New York more than two times in five years. But with my dad's heart condition..

My mother doesn't look like she expects an apology, though, she just looks happy that I'm finally home.

"Look at you," she sighs, seizing me in, "You're so grown up. So beautiful. And so fancy," she says in an extravagant tone, "You don't fit in here anymore." She sounds proud when she says that, but there's also a bit of sadness in her voice. When she looks at me now, she's not looking at the same girl she raised. That girl doesn't exist anymore.

"So," my father approaches the topic carefully, "How come you decided to visit us?" My father never liked to play the game of cat and mouse. He knows my feelings about coming home, and he knows that I wouldn't be here if I didn't have to be, so he doesn't want to beat around the bush, but approach the subject directly.

"Well, there's something I need to tell you guys," I decide not to mention anything work related. That was my excuse back in New York. I don't need any excuses here. Plus, using my job as a reason to visit them would seem selfish. I put my hand in the air, waving my ring finger. "Matt proposed!" I announce.

They stay dead quiet, staring at my finger.

Okay, not the reaction I've been expecting, and definitely not the reaction you're supposed to have when your only daughter tells you that she got engaged.

"Oh, honey, that's wonderful," my mother tries to sounds excited, but fails to do so. It's easy to spot fake happiness on a person that's naturally extremely cheerful. She takes my hand into hers to get a better look at the ring.

"Congratulations," is all my father says, still stricken by these news. I guess that's what happens when you detach yourself from your parents. They know the facts. That you have a boyfriend. That you live together. But they've never seen you happy with him, smiling, laughing, having fun. They've never even seen him. For them, it's not real. So when you tell them you're getting married, it's a shock, because it's unexpected. Because it's unfamiliar.

"It's so beautiful," my mother compliments the ring on my finger.

"But that's not why you're really here," he doesn't ask, he states. He knows.

Of course he knows. My father is a smart man. He probably figured it out the moment I started waving my finger in front of their faces.

I look him in the eyes.

"Oh, Grayson!" my mother says naively, "Of course that's why she's here."

"No, it's not," he contradicts her.

She looks at me, confused, begging for answers. I give her a sympathetic look.

"Is he.." I start, but my throat tightens, "Does he still live there?"

My mother blinks. "Does who still live where, honey?"

"Stefan," my father says the words I never could say out loud, not in my mothers face, "She needs a divorce, Miranda. She can't get married if she's already married."

My mothers eyes grow wide when she finally realizes what's going on. No one says anything for quite a while. My mother is searching for answers in my eyes, but all I have are questions. My father is the one who finally breaks the silence.

"No, he doesn't live there anymore. Elena," his voice doesn't sound harsh, but easy, the voice he used when he tried to rock me to sleep when I was younger. "Stefan moved away."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: I know a lot of you expected for Stefan to make an appearance in the second chapter. So have I, honestly, but I'm struggling with time. I'm leaving the country for a few days, so I had to cut this chapter short, because I wanted to update before I go in order not to keep you waiting. I hope the chapter was satisfying even without Stefan actually being in it. Patience, grasshoppers ;)<strong>_


	3. Chapter 3

_"Okay, okay," he whispers into my ear. One of his palms is covering my eyes, detaching me from the world, while the other one is pressed gently against the small of my back, guiding me forward. "Watch your step." His breath is hot against my skin, melting my spine like it's made out of ice._

_My toes bump against a wooden surface, shooting pain through my leg, and I whimper quietly, sucking in air through my teeth._

_"Are you okay?" the worry in his voice takes all the pain away, soothing me from the inside._

_My toes stop pulsating like they have their own heartbeat as I nod to calm him down. "Yeah," I reply, my voice cool, "Where are we going?" I ask for the millionth time in the last ten minutes._

_"You'll see," he repeats the same reply he has given me before, "It's a surprise."_

_I exhale loudly, protesting in my own way, but making peace with the fact that I won't know where we're going until we're actually there. We walk for two or three more minutes, and in that time I give up guessing where we're going. At one point we just stop walking and, after counting to three, he removes his palm away from my eyes, exposing me to our surroundings._

_We're standing by the road on the other side of the town from where we grew up, where the road is paved and where the sidewalk actually exists, no matter how shabby it looks like. The grass is taller than it should be, reaching all the way to our knees, covering the better part of the flimsy fence surrounding the lot. In the middle of the lot there's a two story house with broken windows and its doors missing. A house neither too big or too small but, how my mother would say, just enough to turn it into a home. And right next to the house there's a sale sign with the word sold written over it in giant red letters._

_"I know, I know," he says before I get a chance to say anything, as if he knows exactly what I would say if given a chance, "It needs some fixing."_

_I look at him, baffled by his words, cocking an eyebrow in his direction._

_"Fine, a lot of fixing. But," he starts defensively, "This is way cheaper than buyin' a fixed up house."_

_"We don't need a house," I sigh, "My parents said we can stay with them until we get on our feet."_

_He stands before me, looking down at me with those gloriously green eyes of his. "I know," he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me closer, making me bump against him, "Which is really nice and generous of them. But I really want us to have our own place."_

_Me too. I want him all for myself, forever. Living with my parents would make that difficult, especially being alone part, but financially, it's the best solution for us right now._

_I look at the house, twisting my wedding band nervously around my ring finger._

_"We don't have enough time to fix it up," I try to reason with him._

_I've always been the reasonable one. Stefan is a risk taker._

_"I'm gonna work on it everyday after work," he says, showing me that he thought it all through._

_I shift my attention from the wreck that is, apparently, our future house, to him, frowning. "You? What about me?"_

_"You need to study. And stay healthy, and strong, and warm, and you won't be any of those things out here in the cold, doing manual labor," he moves my untamed hair out of my face. When he captures the entirety of it, the corners of his lips jump into a smile, ignited by the happiness of seeing me clearly._

_I'm taking night classes at the local college, since I'm unable to attend the classes regularly because of my work schedule. My professors understand that I can't quit, since we really need the money. All of them are really nice about it, actually. As much as I'd love to have the full college experience, I accept that that's not my reality._

_"The house should be done in five months, few days more or less," he sounds convincing, sure in what he's saying._

_I have no other option than to trust him. Honestly, I don't want to have any other options but that one._

_I smile at him, pushing myself up with the little help of my toes, my lips awaiting patiently to touch his. "Can't wait for those five months to pass."_

* * *

><p>When my dad told me that Stefan had moved back into the house he grew up in, my throat tightened, and my heart stopped pumping blood for several seconds. My body hasn't even noticed, the lack of activity from the organ that keeps me alive for the better part, probably out of shock.<p>

He hates that house. It reminds him of so many unpleasant things. It reminds him of his mother, who died in her bed from lung cancer when he was only nine. It reminds him of his father, who took his own life in the barn only several years after his mother died, leaving him and his brother all alone. His brother wanted to sell the house, but Stefan wouldn't let him. Instead, he moved back into the house which stopped being his home before he was ten.

He hates that house, and yet he left ours to move into it. Which means that he hates our house more.

He hates it because it reminds him of me and everything that has to do with me.

I went to visit it that day. I walked over to the other side of the town in the middle of the night and I just stood there for several minutes, watching it, weighing it in my mind, just like did all those years ago. But back then I was weighing all the possibilities, now I was weighing all the memories. All the beautiful, cheerful, brightly colored memories now turned rotten.

He really did manage to finish it in five months. He didn't just make it nice, he turned it into my dream house, even though my dreams were quite smaller back then. No one has lived in here for years. My parents said he moved out about a year after I left, but he never sold the place. Looking at it now, it doesn't look abandoned. It looks sad. It smells of unfulfilled wishes and dreams that never found its place outside of our heads.

I didn't try to go inside, and not just because it's probably locked, but because it's not my house anymore. I mailed my parents the key about a month or so after I left, after I've convinced myself that what I'm doing is not a gigantic mistake that's going to ruin my life. And it wasn't, I made the right call leaving this place and looking at it now, I've never been more sure of it. I don't want to be locked away in this prison.

Which is why it's weird to think of it as our house, since I gave up the rights to it a long time ago. By the looks of it, it's not anybody's house. It's like a monster in the middle of the street, whispering secrets and happy thoughts that are long lost now that they seem like a lie.

From the outside, the house is the color of peach, the windows and the doors colored white. He fixed the fence and painted it in the same color as the house. I wonder is the dog house still in the backyard, and is the dog still alive? I don't want to call him by his name, because if I do, I'll remember how much I love him, and if I do, I'll want to see him, which is impossible. There's a set of swings and a slide in the front of the house. Seeing it makes my throat tighten and my eyes start watering ten different types of tears, mourning failed plans and life I've buried deep into the ground even before I started living it.

Why didn't he sell it?

Maybe he thinks it's cursed. Maybe he didn't want to ruin anymore lives.

I shouldn't have come here. I can't be in love with the memories.

* * *

><p>"Elena, sweetheart, could you do me a favor?" I can hear my mothers voice coming from the kitchen in a playful singsong.<p>

"Just a second!" I reply from the living room, typing furiously at my laptop, hitting the keys with my fingertips as if they're my greatest enemy.

While waiting for my lawyer to mail me the divorce papers - since there's no point in facing him without them - I've been trying to write the draft about what I'm supposed to be doing here. This morning my dose of inspiration finally kicked in, and I'm so close to finishing the draft so I can send it to Katherine.

Few sentences later, I finally make my last full stop and mail the draft to my editor, hoping it doesn't come back to me all red. I put my laptop away and skip into the kitchen, on my toes, to my mother, like a ten year old.

"You called?" I tease her.

She's standing in front of the counter, with her hands in a bowl, kneading something. I silently curse her for doing so, for baking such delicious things I cannot refuse out of several reasons. When I go back to New York, I'll have to go on a strict diet, like carrots and green tea 24/7. I'll also have to hit the gym. I have my membership card somewhere.

"Ah, yes!" she exclaims, like she forgot she needed me in the first place, "Would you mind going to the store for me?"

Out of some reason, leaving the house in the middle of the day seems terrifying.

"Of course," I don't dare to refuse my mother, though.

"Lovely!" she sings absentmindedly, her sole focus on the work in front of her, "The list is right over there," she points at the other end of the counter.

I take the list and put it inside of my bag before putting on heels and my leather jacket, since weather is far more generous in Darling than it is in New York. For a girl who complains about wearing heels as much as I do, I wear them too often, even when there's no need to.

I've given some thought about going to the closest slightly larger town and renting a car, but with my mom's cooking all this walking will do me good, since there's no gym around here, and I still don't feel welcome enough to go for a run.

I make my way to our local store. I remember the way, it's where I used to work at when I was still in High School. We don't really have any big, famous stores around here - at least we didn't use to. As far as big commercial chains go, Darling counts one Starbucks and one Burger King, which aren't all that successful here. Honestly, I have no idea why they still keep it open.

The few people I meet on my way to the store look at me funnily, like they know me, but can't place me. The last time they've seen me taking this path, my mothers shopping list crumbled in my pocket, I was wearing sweatpants and Uggs, not a designer skirt and Louboutins. I recognize the people, of course I do, everyone know everybody in this town. But I don't greet them, because doing that would create a pile of questions I'm not ready to answer, nor will I ever be. My plan is to leave this town unnoticed, the same way I came.

I stumble into an empty store, kindly greeting the young girl behind the counter who's chewing her gum, very loudly. She gives me a once over, her eyebrows raised, before saying a barely audible greeting, more out of obligation than kindness.

One thing my mother would like about New York is how big the stores are and how many choices you get to choose between. We have a market downtown, but these shoes are not meant to walk that far, so this will just have to make do. I go over her list fairly quickly, storing the items in a tiny plastic basket before taking them to the register. The girl behind the counter checks every one of my items, looking at me under her eyelashes.

"Umm, can I get a bag?" in New York, they just put your items in a bag without you having to ask. I almost forgot that such advanced techniques still haven't reached Darling, and that you probably still have to pay $0.25 for a plastic bag.

"Sure," the girls reaches under the counter, popping her gum, and throwing all white plastic bag, with a green logo Peggy's market imprinted on it, with the rest of my stuff.

"Thanks," I open the bag and start throwing all the items inside. Thankfully, there's not too many of them, mom kept it light this time.

"That would be $13.45," she says before I'm done handling my stuff. I take out my credit card and give it to her, and she looks at it as if she's never seen anything similar before, turning it over in her hands.

_It doesn't do magic tricks_, I want to tell her, but I keep my tongue behind my teeth.

"You put it in here," I point at the machine next to the register.

She cocks her eyebrow at me, not offended, but amused by my directions. "Yeah, I know what it does, it's just that not a lot of people in Darling own these things," she pulls my card and turns the machine to me so I can enter my pin code.

"Can I ask you something?" she asks after giving me the card back, alongside the receipt, trying to hide her thick accent, like she's ashamed of it. Been there, done that.

"Uhm, sure."

"Are you Elena Gilbert?"

"Yes," I nod, curious to know how this girls knows me, she must have been no older than 13 years old when I left town.

Even though all of my documents say Gilbert, I actually carry Stefan's last name. Salvatore. I never did have time to legally change my documents as well. I was waiting for them to expire, but our marriage ended before that day came.

"You went to school with my sister, Rebekah."

Rebekah. _Rebekah?_

Ah, yes. A tall girl, probably taller than I am while wearing heels, with platinum blonde hair that didn't come from a bottle. She was the star of our country dance club, most likely because of her tall legs that made 60% of her body.

"Oh. Well, say hi to her," I say politely.

"You can do it yourself, she works over the weekend at the Empire."

Empire? I don't think I remember that place. Is it possible that something new opened in Darling?

I have no intentions staying here until the weekend, but I still thank her and say that I'll try to stop by.

I grab my bag and make my way out of the store. Just as I take a turn left, in a hurry to get home, I bump into another person. Thankfully, I was holding my bag tightly, so it didn't fly away.

"Oh," I say, bouncing away, "I'm so sorry," I start apologizing, but the other person doesn't say anything.

When I raise my look, when I reach his face, I understand why.

My breath gets stuck inside of my throat.

_Stefan._

He's staring at me, his face pale, wearing the expression of surprise, which is understandable. It's been six years.

Six years since I left. Six years since I told him I can't do this anymore. Six years since he couldn't stop blaming me. Six years since I had to stop blaming myself. Six years since I packed my things, turned around and left. Six years since the last _I'm sorry_ and _I love you_ and _please forgive me_. Six years since the last time his skin touched mine. Six years since we fell out of love.

He doesn't say anything. He turns around and leaves. But I don't call after him.

I don't have a right to.

I threw those six letters in a string out of my vocabulary six years ago.

* * *

><p><em><strong>STEFAN'S POV<strong>_

I've never walked faster in my life. I came from Peggy's market to my house in less than five minutes, and it usually takes me at least fifteen.

When I saw someone coming at me, ready to crash into me, I knew that she's not from around here. She smelled like big cities and moved like one of those women who spend their teenage years learning how to walk with a pile of books on the top of their heads. I thought that she's just some random woman passing by to some more important place.

I didn't know it's her. I didn't recognize her. Not until I've heard her speak.

Her voice brought back so many memories. I've never experienced so many flashbacks in just five seconds.

She's so different. Her accent is completely gone. She talks as if she hasn't spent a day of her life here. She looks more serious, more grown up. She wears clothes she used to look at in magazines.

She looks like a dream come true.

She's so different and yet, in some aspects, exactly the same. Familiar in a way a person you used to be in love with is, person who fits a bit of themselves in you and leaves it there, even after they leave.

She left this place thinking I don't love her anymore, and I was too much of a coward to stop her. To tell her that I'll always love her, no matter what. She's my girl, she always has been. She left thinking I blame her, when the only person I blamed was myself, but I never told her that. I was too afraid of failing her, so I let her think she has failed me.

The question is not why she left, though. Not anymore.

The question is.. _why is she back?_

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: Finally, Stefan makes an introduction. I bet you thought his appearance will answer some questions, but it only created more of them. It will take some time for me to answer them, I don't want to spill all of their secrets right away. <em>**

**_This chapter consists of Elena's pov, which will make most of the story, Stefan's pov, there will be more of it, some longer, some shorter, and our first flashback to their past - something I'm looking forward to the most. Flashbacks won't be written periodically, they will be scattered alongside the timeline, always connected to the topic of the chapter in the present._**

**_Also, Darling is a completely fictional town, if anyone was wondering._**

**_Thank you for reading and I hope you've enjoyed this chapter!_**


	4. Chapter 4

I guess the girl from the market ended up telling her sister that I'm in town, because people won't stop calling or trying to weasel themselves into our house. The news about my return spread like wildfire in less than a day, bringing much needed gossip and speculations and, most importantly, drama. I almost forgot what's it like living in a small town where everything you say and do is heard and seen by everyone, and everyone feel the need and right to weigh and comment your every decision and action. You're constantly in the center of attention, while in New York there are too many people for anyone to be the center of anything. You become the part of the crowd. And I like that, being a part of something with a possibility of getting lost in it.

Our closest neighbors are stopping by with all kinds of excuses. Howdy ho, I just came to borrow a cup of sugar and check the truthfulness of the rumors about your runaway daughter coming back home. Others are just calling and flatly asking about it. Why did she come home? Is she pregnant? Is her boyfriend abusive? Did she lose her job? Did she go bankrupt? Is it a drug problem?

The only person who hasn't dialed our number is probably Stefan. He's probably sick and tired of hearing my name and he had heard it for sure at least ten times in the last 24 hours.

I'm not surprised by the number of people interested in my personal life. I grew up among these people and their curiosity. What surprises is the quick and short answer Katherine e-mails to me. I turn my laptop on when I get too tired of answering the phone and hearing my father make sarcastic slash witty remarks, and when I log on, I find out that I have 12 new e-mails in my inbox. Eight of them are various newsletters. First is a picture of Matt, pouting while taking down our Christmas tree with a caption "you left just to avoid work, admit it!" It makes me smile, but I don't reply him back. I'll do it later because, right now, I'm not in the mood to act silly and sweet with my boyfriend. Excuse me, fiance. The second one is from Bonnie who wants me to tell her everything that's going on or, better yet, videotape it. I don't reply to her either. The third one is from Katherine. She didn't send me my draft back, which means it doesn't need correcting. She even said that she loves it - her exact words - with hundred of exclamation points after. She's going to publish it on our website tomorrow. The fourth, and the last one, makes me suck in some air through my closed teeth. It's my lawyer, sending me my divorce papers.

"Damn vultures!" my dad stumbles into the living room with a furious expression on his face.

I lift my look from the screen to him, watching him as he settles himself in his armchair. Soft, brown, leather armchair has always been my fathers spot in our house. "Are they gone?" I ask innocently, feeling guilty for not handling those people myself. After all, my arrival has ignited their curiosity, therefor they're my problem, not my parents. But avoiding my responsibilities and running away from my problems, letting others take care of the ashes of my ruins, is what I'm best at, I guess.

"For now," he mutters into his beard, "If they come back, I swear I'm gonna bring out my shotgun!"

I don't say anything to that, because I don't know if he's joking or actually being serious. Both of my parents grew up here, but my dad somehow grew up differently from the rest of the population. He doesn't like to push his nose into other people's business, and he doesn't appreciate when people push their nose where it doesn't belong.

"What's wrong?" he asks after few minutes of watching me stare at the screen, motionless. Serving Stefan the divorce papers has seemed so easy in my head, but now that I'm finally able to do it, I don't know how to execute the idea.

"My lawyer just e-mailed me the divorce papers," I answer.

"Elena," he says my name cautiously, "Are you sure you're making the right decision?"

His question shakes me up, awakening me from my state of shock. "What do you mean?" I furrow my brows, not out of anger, but out of confusion. I thought he supports my decisions, and understands my situation. Why I left in the first place. Why I had to leave.

"You got married, and marriage means forever, not until you hit a rough patch," he makes such an easy, obvious argument, one you would expect from a traditional, older person whose biggest marital problem was a question of buying a new truck.

"Our marriage ended more than six years ago, the only thing I'm doing now is making it official," I try not to get upset by him. He's a big fan of Stefan, he always has been, ever since we were kids. Even before we started dating or thinking about each other in a romantic way. Stefan was like a son to him. When I left, I didn't only detach myself from them, I took Stefan away from them as well. They lost two people the day I left for New York. "Don't you think it's a bit too late now to be talking about hitting the rough patch? That's a conversation we should have had six years ago, dad."

His face gets all red, but he doesn't raise his voice when he answers me. "Six years ago you wouldn't listen to anyone, let alone me. You were such a stubborn child and, by the looks of it, you still are." I am stubborn, but so is he, which is why we never had an ideal relationship. As much as I love, admire and respect my father, we've never been able to see an eye to eye, since're we're always too busy forcing our opinions on each other to see the other ones point of view. My mother is a complete opposite - she's a mild person who's afraid of confrontations so she just lets it go. She keeps the balance.

"I'm not stubborn!" I stand up, shutting my laptop down, "I just don't see the point in talking about the life I left behind years ago! We got married far too young. We were irresponsible and reckless and our inexperience couldn't handle all the shit life threw at us. I moved to escape that fate. I built a new life, dad, with someone else!"

"And you think you're going to do better with the new guy?" he asks, squinting at me like he's trying to will his answers into my mind.

"The new guy has a name!" I roll my eyes, raising my voice. He always calls him that - your boyfriend, the man you live with, that guy. He doesn't take our relationship seriously, and he minimizes Matt's importance in my life by calling him anything other than his name. "It's Matt! And I know I'm going to do better! You know why? Because we're both responsible adults with a steady income!"

"Wrong answer, Elena," he says smugly, like the right answer to that question actually exists, "The right answer is that you know you're going to do better because you love him more."

My heart sinks into my chest, liquefying itself and spreading itself throughout the rest of my body. Not because it's not true, but because I've never thought of it. I love Matt, I do, but for me the beauty of our relationship is having all the things I never had with Stefan. My marriage with Stefan was a risk from the start. I was constantly worrying about practical things, like money and safety and future. Stefan was never bothered by those things, he lived day by day, taking life as it came. He was always more free spirited than me, which is something I've always envied him - he had the ability to not worry.

"That's really nice, dad," I cross my arms over my chest, exhaling loudly, "But that's not enough, at least not in the reality I live in. Now, would you please tell me where I can find Stefan?" I take my laptop into my hands, getting ready to leave the house.

He stays quiet for some time, almost convincing me he won't tell me, when he finally speaks. "At the Empire. It's where Duke's Palace used to be."

* * *

><p>I storm out of the house, angry with my father for bringing up the past and asking pointless questions. My past, my failed marriage to Stefan and all the things that led to it are things I never resolved, but rather put in a large box, locked them safely inside and threw away the key. From time to time they start rattling around, begging to get out, but I never allow them near my mind. Those questions will forever go unanswered because, even if the answers ever existed, they're long gone by now.<p>

I move downtown, wondering what kind of a place Empire is. Duke's Palace used to be a bar where town drunks gathered, people whose life had gone terribly wrong, so they turn to alcohol. I guess Empire is what replaced it, and being able to find Stefan in a place like that creates an incredible amount of guilt inside of me.

On my way over there I find probably the only copy store in town, and I print our divorce papers, sealing them in a large, yellow envelope. A young boy that works there doesn't recognize me, I'm sure of it, because if he did, he would have looked at me differently.

Like, for instance, people on the street do. Some of them don't recognize me, but those who do I catch immediately, by staring or whispering or pointing at me. I don't let it get to me, but I still wonder about what exactly they're saying.

When I finally reach the place where Duke's Palace used to be, I come to a halt, stopping in place, my jaw falling open, my mouth gaping in unladylike fashion. Duke's Palace, which used to be a wooden shack with dirty windows and a white board with Duke's Palace written over it with a black marker, is replaced by a modern building with glass doors and tall windows the height of the wall.

I can't believe such a place exists in Darling. Whoever invested in it must be crazy, thinking that such place would make a profit here. Probably some young, naive entrepreneur who thought small townies are hungry for some big attraction. Half people in this town probably can't even afford the crazy prices in this place. The place is most likely new and will go under in less than a year.

I make my way towards the entrance. When I open the doors, even before I step inside, I'm met with soft, calming country music I grew up with. My father used to play it every chance he got - before his afternoon nap, while fixing the truck, during the dinner. I haven't listened to it in years and hearing it again stirs up a pleasant feeling inside of me. Like a memory I get to relive.

It's a diner. It's a bar. It's a nightclub. It's everything. Most importantly, it's nothing like Duke's Palace. There are booths where people are sitting - families, couples, singles - and eating. Next to it is a roller skating rink with a small, round bar in the middle, selling everything from juice to candy, something that's probably quite popular with teens and younger kids. Opposite from it is a dancing floor, and right next to it is a large bar with at least twenty bar stools around it.

It's everything in one place. That's kinda.. brilliant. And the place is full. Despite my predictions, by this pace, there's no way this place will go under, like, ever. And judging by the way it's decorated, by the music it's playing, I don't think some outsider built this place. It's too personal for someone who doesn't know the people living in this town.

People start noticing me and the chatter stops. Almost everyone are looking at me now. I recognize quite a few people as well - there are few people I remember from school, a girl who used to work with me at Peggy's Market, and Alexia, Stefan's cousin.

It's uncomfortable, everyone staring at me, whispering among themselves. I can hear their quiet voices behind the low music. I swallow hard, unable to face all these people, and start walking towards the bar, where a waitress is talking to a customer sitting by the bar. She hasn't noticed me yet, and maybe she can tell me where to find Stefan. If he's a regular customer here, or if he, by any chance, works here, she must know him.

"Yeah, she's the talk of the town," I hear the waitress say when I get closer, and once I hear her voice, I realize that I know her.

In that instant she look towards me, her eyes locking with mine, and that's how she recognizes me. "Speak of the devil," she wiggles her eyebrows, her lips forming into a smirk. "Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in," she puts her hands on her hips, swaying them from side to side.

I smile softly. "Caroline," I greet her fondly, all the memories rushing at me at once. Caroline used to be my best friend since we were in diapers. When I left town we lost touch, and it wasn't that long until all contact stopped.

"I've heard you came back," she moves from around the counter towards me, spreading her arms for me to fit right into them. Before I know it, she's pulling me into a hug. I envelop my arms around her as well. Her hair smells like jasmine, just like it used to, and she hugs as tightly as she always did.

Why do everyone think that I came back? I didn't come back, I'm just visiting. This is one place I would never, under any circumstances, come back to.

"And you're lookin' all fancy now!" she exclaims, putting her hands on my shoulders and checking out my attire, "What, you're some big shot at New York now!?" she winks at me.

I wave her off. "Not even close."

"Mhm," she murmurs as if she doesn't believe, "Now, tell me, what brings you back in town?"

She skips back behind the counter. The man who was sitting by the bar stands up and moves away, leaving us alone.

"Well, uhm," I say awkwardly, suddenly feeling weird for asking her this, "Do you know where I could find Stefan?" I say as quietly as possible.

"Oh," she says, but she doesn't sound surprised. She's probably been expecting me to say that. She looks at the watch on her wrist, wiggling her lips in the meantime. "He should be back in five. Do you want me to get you something to drink in the meantime?"

"No, thank you," I wave my head politely, even though I am quite thirsty, it just feels weird asking my former best friend to serve me a drink after six years of not seeing her.

"So," she puts her elbows on the counter, looking at me with her big blue eyes, "Tell me, what's new with you. What are you doing in New York? Do you have a fancy job? How many Starbucks are there?" she starts asking a series of questions, some to which I really don't have an answer to, like the Starbucks one. Has anyone counted all the Starbucks in New York? But Caroline has always been curious and chatty, her personality cheerful and bubbly, so I take all of her questions stoically.

I don't get to answer them, though, because we're interrupted by a running step and a tiny voice. "Mama!" I hear a child's voice coming from behind me and my legs turn into jello because it sounds so familiar. It sounds exactly like..

There's a bump in my throat which I have to swallow, because the longer it's there, the bigger the chance that my eyes will start watering.

But with my curiosity eating away at me, I have to turn around to qualm it down. To convince myself that it's not him. It's not real. It's all in my head, like before. I stopped hearing that voice when I crossed the boarder.

There's a small boy, about 4 years old, with sandy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes running in our direction. _He looks so much like Stefan._

"Look what uncle Stefan got me!" the boy runs past me, towards Caroline. He rounds the counter and crashes into her. I follow him with the corner of my eyes, watching him as he shows her the tiny firetruck in his hands. She picks him up into her arms.

I finally swallow, averting my gaze, which is when my eyes fall on Stefan. He's walking in our direction as well, his eyes locked on me, a hard and serious look on his face.

"Uncle Stefan is going to spoil you," Caroline says, and I look at her, partially because I want to look anywhere but at Stefan, partially out of curiosity.

"Uncle Stefan?" I ask, eyeing the boy.

Caroline sees the look in my eyes, but she doesn't give me a sympathetic look, which I'm thankful for. She knows I couldn't handle more of those, not even after all these years.

"This may come as a surprise, but I married Damon," she informs me, waving her ring finger in the air, flashing me her wedding band. I can feel the ring Matt has put on my finger as well, and I wonder has anyone noticed it.

I shift my gaze from the boy to her, my mouth falling open out of shock. "You? And Damon?" that makes no sense at all. Less than no sense. "But you've always been at each others throats!" Caroline marrying Damon is the freakiest thing I've ever heard.

"A lot of things have changed, Elena," she tells me calmly, her eyes following something behind me. My lucky guess is Stefan. "Dany, why don't you go show Molly your new firetruck," she puts him down, and the boy runs clumsily towards the booths.

His presence is replaced by Stefan's, and the bump in my throat reappears. He rounds the corner and stands next to Caroline, leaning against the bar, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Well, isn't it my wife," he says. He doesn't spit those words out, he doesn't even sound angry. He sounds normal which, out of some reason, makes me uncomfortable. "I have to apologize for my behavior yesterday. I wasn't quite sure is it really you, or am I going completely and utterly crazy."

"Stefan, behave," Caroline warns him. I don't know why because, regarding our situation, he's behaving better than I would have given him credit to.

He sounds different. He even looks different. He stands differently and carries himself in a different manner. But what have I expected, it's been six years, I must seem like a completely different person to him as well.

And I am.

We're strangers now, and there was a time when no one was closer to me than him. Sometimes I had a feeling he understands me better than I understand myself.

"I'm going to leave you two alone," Caroline says, probably feeling awkward for standing between us.

"No, I don't think there's any need for that," Stefan stops her, like he's afraid of staying alone with me. I don't want to stay alone with him either, so I'm thankful to him for stopping Caroline from leaving. "I have a feeling Elena will run off as soon as she gets whatever she needs."

"Stefan!" Caroline snaps at him, seeming horrified by his behavior.

Stefan rolls his eyes, giving her a look that says _okay, okay, I'll play adult_. "Can I get you something to drink, darling?" he asks me, smiling softly at me, which shakes me up from inside. I push the feeling away, attributing it to our past and whatever it might be left over of it inside of me.

I've expected a lot from him, but not this kind of behavior. I've expected him to be unpleasant and angry, I thought that that's what our shared life did to him - turned him from sweet and caring to bitter and snappy. But he's not cruel. He's clearly not fond of me anymore, which I knew, but he's still treating me nicely.

But something is off with him. He's never been so.. sarcastic. Ironic. The color of his voice is different.

Maybe I just broke him in a different way than I thought. Maybe I'm giving myself too much credit.

"You work here?" I ask with a shaky voice, eyeing all the alcohol on the shelves behind him, thinking that him working around so much poison is not a good idea.

"Actually," Caroline says proudly, "Stefan is the owner."

My eyes go wide. "You own this place?"

He chuckles. "You sound surprised that I'm worth something."

No, that's not what I meant, but before I get a chance to explain myself, he speaks again. "I have a feeling there's something you need."

Okay, here's my chance.

"Actually, yes.."

Both of them look at me, awaiting my request.

"I wanted to give you this."

I put the envelope on the counter. He looks down at it, reaching for it, spinning it in his hands.

"What is it?" he asks. There's a frown on the bridge of his nose.

I swallow.

"Our divorce papers."

* * *

><p><em>"I ain't gonna ever marry!" Caroline yells passionately, throwing her large golden locks over her left shoulder.<em>

_"Like anyone would ever want to marry you!" Damon laughs devilishly, teasing Caroline just like he always does._

_We're walking back home from school, the sun is burning the exposed skin of our shoulders and knees, but we're still slowly dragging our feet, taking the long way home. There are tiny sweat beads decorating my forehead, and I'm too disgusted by sweat to remove them with the palm of my hand._

_Caroline gives him an evil eye, squinting at him furiously. "Shut up!"_

_He sticks his tongue out at her. "Make me!"_

_She yells something completely inaudible, stomps her feet and starts chasing him. As if he knew that's what she's going to do, he starts running even before she makes the first move._

_I watch her chase him in a direction opposite of where we should be going, shaking my head at their behavior._

_"What 'bout you, Lena?" Stefan asks when we sit down on the closest bench, waiting for Damon and Caroline to tire each other out._

_"What about me?"_

_"You ever gonna marry?"_

_Our English teacher asked us to ask our parents when, and how, they got married, because apparently we're going to need that information for our next class._

_"I don't know. Maybe," I shrug, feeling completely indifferent towards the subject. "Yes. I want a family. I wanna do some other things first, though."_

_"Like?" he pops a piece of gum into his mouth, offering me some as well._

_I refuse. "I wanna travel, I wanna see the world."_

_"Ah," he exhales, "You gonna leave me all alone here?"_

_I look at him, shocked by the idea._

_He's grinning at me._

_"Of course not!" I defend myself, "I'm gonna take you with me!" I bump my shoulder into his, which is when his grin falls._

_"Nah," he drops his head, looking down at the ground, "I ain't ever gonna leave this place. This is my home."_

_"Oh," I say disappointingly, something kneading at my chest._

_"I'm gonna find myself a decent job, marry I girl that I love, have a couple of kids, and we're gonna live together forever."_

_"Forever?"_

_He shifts his attention back to me, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Forever. What else is there?"_

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: Merry Christmas to all those who celebrate, and to those who don't I wish wonderful holidays!<em>**


	5. Chapter 5

**_STEFAN'S POV_**

_"You own this place?"_ I can still hear her mistrustful voice inside of my head. As if my achievements are the most unbelievable things she has ever witnessed. She doesn't think I have enough strength or talent or ambition, and I don't think she ever has.

Not that I can blame her. When I was a child, I never knew how to stand up for myself, mostly because I had an older brother who would always do it for me. I was mild, while Damon was forceful. He liked to push things, and people, to their breaking point to see if they're strong enough to handle him in their life. I guess that, over time, he rubbed off on me, little by little. I learned how to take control over my life, at least when it came to most people. Not with Elena, though, never with Elena. She was an exception. I wasn't aware of it when I was 8, or 12 or, hell, even 16, but my life has always been dictated by her. Her dreams became my goals, and what was enough for her would always be enough for me as well. I would always let her choose which movie we should watch, steal french fries off of my plate, take my last piece of gum without asking. It took me embarrassingly long time to realize that I'm not spineless, but helplessly in love with the most beautiful living thing in the whole universe.

And from the moment I fully comprehended the reality of my situation I knew that I could repeat this lousy life million times in million different ways and never be truly deserving of her.

I guess that's where I went wrong - I tailored my life by what I thought is enough for her, and not by what is enough for me.

She was the only thing I had that was worth having, so when she took off, I was left with nothing. I spent the first month of her departure the same way I spent the last six months she was still in the house - immersed in liquor. But I was young and foolish enough to think she would come back, not because I didn't believe she can do it, but because Elena was always better off living with dreams inside of her head, rather than outside of it. I wanted her to have something to come back to, I wanted her to know that things will be different from now on, that I got the message, that I've finally heard her loud and clear.

When Duke's Palace went under I bought the place for a measly amount of money and turned it into a children's restaurant. I've named it Will's Playground, and it became popular in a matter of days, mostly because the only kid friendly place around here, at the time, was Burger King. Managing that place soon became my life and turned into something more than a mean to provide my wife with a sense of safety. It was Caroline who told me that all loyal customers of Duke's Palace went to Rick's, which is a bit more classy, scaring away all of the other customers. So I thought why not open a place friendly to every person in town, from kids to old people? Family in the front, party in the back. And that's how the Empire was born.

It became clear that Elena won't be coming back, and I've realized that it was so foolish of me to ever think that she would. The next time she stepped foot into this town was after six years, to serve me our divorce papers.

The moment I saw her talking to Caroline, standing inside of a place that was built to lure her back home, I knew that I have three choices. I could act like an emotional wreck she had turned me into the first time I've bumped into her, few days ago. My second choice was to play cool, say something along the lines of _of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine_. And my last choice, the one I decided to take, was to act indifferent towards her. As if time is the sea that washed her away from my shore, even the tinniest pieces that could easily get lost in the sand.

Which is why, when she handed me our divorce papers, I had to act as if it's not a big deal. _Sure, I'll sign them. No problem. I'll get them back to you by tomorrow._

I saw the horrified expression on Caroline's face, but I acted as if everything was fine. Just dandy.

On my way home, I was gripping the yellow envelope so tightly between my fingers that I've probably ripped the paper apart, trying to wish it out of existence. I pour myself a glass of whiskey, thinking that's not such a good idea, considering my past. It took me a long time to come near liquor without wanting to drown in it. Whatever. I'll just add it to the growing list of things that are not such a good idea.

The envelope is staring at me from the table, taunting me, teasing me, listing all of my sins. I try to incinerate it with my mind.

As if she can sense that something is wrong, Nessa comes over to me, trying to fit her head between my knees. I smile and place my palm on the top of her furry head, petting her.

"She's back, ya know?" I say and Nessa lifts her look, staring at me sadly, like she wants to say that she knows and that she's sorry. "She wants me to sign those," I look towards the table where the envelope still lies. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to set it on fire with the power of my mind. "So we can be done, once and for all," I swallow hard, my throat burning, and I'm not all that sure whiskey is to blame.

When she handed me the envelope, when she said the words _divorce papers_, everything inside of me jolted out of surprise. Like I didn't see it coming, like it came so suddenly, without a warning, which is silly.

I had six years to prepare for this day to come.

But, instead, all I did in this six years was grow numb.

* * *

><p><em>"I wanna cotton candy," I squeal into his ear like a child, trying to override the music coming out of the speakers all around us.<em>

_"Lena," he scrunches his nose, small wrinkles appearing all the way around it, "That thing is disgusting, and unhealthy. Also sticky," he tries to make an argument. Not a very good one, though. A lot of things are disgusting and unhealthy, but we still eat them. I don't have a problem with stickiness, either._

_"Yes," I put both of my hands on his arm, pushing the tips of my fingers into his exposed flesh, hanging off of him slightly. "But it's also sweet, and fun. And pink!" I say excitedly as we approach the cotton candy machine._

_He looks down at me, a soft smile playing at his lips. He never learned how to say no to me, so he stands in line to order me one big, fluffy cotton candy I can devour all by myself. And then eat nothing for a week because that thing actually is disgusting and makes me sick._

_I wander few steps away from where we're standing towards a machine that holds big, white balls with a surprise in them, watching them intently, trying to see what's inside of them._

_"Here's your diabetes on a stick," his voice surprises me, even though it shouldn't, and he pushes a sticky sugar cloud in front of my face._

_I take it into my hands, capturing a bit of cotton between my lips. I can feel some of it getting on the tip of my nose. "I would always beg my dad to buy me one of these, but he never wanted to. He said that they're a waste of money, because my expectations are much bigger than the surprise it holds, so the disappointment is inevitable," I share with him, trying to get the cotton off of my nose without tainting my fingers._

_The next thing I know he's taking 50 cents out of his pocket and feeding them to the machine._

_"Stefan, you didn't have to.." I say, even though I'm kinda glad that he did._

_The plastic ball rolls out of the machines narrow throat into his hand. He outstretches his hand, waiting for me to take the ball, but my hands are already all full of cotton candy. "You open it," I say, slurping in some more of that delicious cotton into my mouth._

_He twists the ball to the right and it opens in the middle. He lifts the top of and peers inside of the bottom part. A smirk appears on his face as he reaches for whatever's inside of it with his fingers._

_"What is it?" I ask curiously when I notice him hiding the item in his closed fist._

_He takes my free hand, one that's not all sticky with sugar, and smiles softly at me. The way his lips twitch warms me up from the inside._

_"Elena," he says my name affectionately, "Know that this is just until I'm able to get you a real one."_

_I narrow my eyes at him, confused, until I feel something tight and cold slipping around my finger. I look down at my hand in his and notice a plastic toy ring on my ring finger._

_"These things are supposed to mean forever, and nothing says forever like plastic does, right?" he chuckles nervously to hide how lousy he feels about not being able to provide me with something real and solid._

_"Are you proposing to me?" I ask dumbly, glaring at him._

_He lifts his look from the ground to me. "Proposing?" a grin plasters itself across the length of his lips, "Woman, I knew that I'm going to marry you long before I was man enough to admit it to myself."_

_I blush intensely, lowering my look. "Stefan, if you're doing this just because - "_

_"Don't even finish that sentence!" he cuts me off in the middle with a tone full of warning, "Don't even think that. Lena, you are my best friend. You always were. And the day you let me kiss you sloppily like boys do when they're kissing a girl they could only dream about kissing, you became something more than that. The only reason I want to marry you is because I love you. I know.." he chokes at this part, making me look him in the eyes, "I know that you always wanted to leave this place and that, now, you're forced to stay. Because of me."_

_"Stefan," I say abruptly before he gets a chance to say one more word, "As long as you're here, there's not a place I would rather be."_

_His eyes sparkle, happiness dancing around his pupils. "Really?" he asks, more surprised than he should be. Than I would like him to be._

_I wrap my arms around his neck, my fingers meeting on the other side of him, my face approaching his. "Really," I smile against his lips before kissing him._

* * *

><p>The buzzing sound of my phone, vibrating on my nightstand, right next to my head, is what wakes me up too early in the morning. I yank it violently, gripping it tightly with my fingers, still half asleep and not really aware of my actions.<p>

"What?" I groan angrily into the phone without looking who might be calling.

"Good morning to you as well, sunshine," I hear a laughing sound on the other side of the line. Matt. Slight sense of horror passes through me when I realize it could have been anyone on the phone. It could have been Katherine. I could have verbally flipped off my boss.

"It's not really morning, is it?" I yawn, "It's sunrise, except there's no sun, because sun doesn't know this town exists," I say snappily.

"Ouch. I take it you didn't have your coffee yet.." he starts sounding as if he's sorry that he called me in the first place.

_Well, I think that's pretty obvious,_ I think, but don't say it. "No," is what I say instead, "Not even close."

I rub my eyes. I even sit straight, after four failed attempts. My feet find their way to the ground, settling into the warmth of my fuzzy slippers.

"So.." I hear him say awkwardly, "I got your e-mail. You sounded.." he doesn't want to say the wrong thing, so he thinks carefully about what he's going to say next, "Weird."

I stand up and start walking around the room, bumping my hip into the edges of nearby furniture.

"Yeah, sorry for that, I was in quite a rush," I try to justify myself for the measly answer I have given him to his e-mail.

"Work's keeping you busy?"

I move towards the window to push the curtains open, hoping the rising sun would help me wake up.

"Pretty much."

Yeah.. work.

"So, did you get a chance to talk to your parents?"

I put my elbows on the window bench, trying to will myself to open my eyes.

"Yup. It was the first thing I did," well, among first things.

"And?" he asks curiously, like a child trying to find out what his parents got him for his birthday.

"They were so excited, Matt," I try to sound as convincing as possible, but everything I can think of sounds like a lie to me.

Yeah, they were just ecstatic. My mother hasn't brought it up even once after I've told her. She's been happier when I got engaged to my high school boyfriend than to a serious, well rounded guy, now when I have my life all put together. And my father actually asked me is there I chance I would be willing to get back together with my ex husband you know nothing about.

"That's great!" he exclaims, "Because I was thinking that I could fly over this weekend and - "

"No!" I yell. His sentence makes me open my eyes. Sunlight overpowers my pupils and makes my eyes water with tears as they stay open out of shock.

I hear him suck in some breath through his teeth loudly, obviously surprised and hurt by my reaction.

I bite my lower lip, feeling guilty for the way I've reacted.

"I mean not now," I try to explain myself, "Now's not the right time."

He doesn't say anything in return and silence masks itself into our faithful companion. Just as I open my mouth to say something else, to explain myself better, there's something else that catches my eye.

On the street where my house is, just in front of my window, there's a running figure. His muscles are tight, bouncing under his skin as his arms move, sweat trickling down his neck.

I recognize him immediately, from his sandy hair to the way his sweats hang low on his hips, threatening to fall down, but never reaching the ground.

I move my face closer to the closed window, gluing the tip of my nose and my lips against the glass, my eyes following the movements of his body.

It's different than I remember it. He's bigger, stronger, wider. More solid.

What the frick frack is he doing outside, shirtless, in the middle of a winter? Sure, it's Darling, and the middle of winter is more like early summer here, but whatever.

"Elena?" I hear a confused voice on the other side of the line, "Are you there?"

His voice shakes me out of a trans I've found myself in. My cheeks blush as I move away from the window.

"Maybe they can come to visit us to New York sometime," I propose. You know, where my ex husband is not running shirtless in front of my window.

"That would be nice," he says, less excited than I thought he would be.

"I have to go now. Work's calling," I try to wiggle myself out of this awkward conversation. The blush is starting to spread all over my body.

"Matt, I love you," I tell him when he doesn't say anything back.

I can hear him sigh, quietly, as if he's trying to hide it from me. "I love you too, Elena."

* * *

><p>After taking a long shower, I make myself a cup of coffee and turn on my laptop to get some work done before my parents are up with their busy, noisy lives.<p>

I decide to write Matt a warm, fuzzy e-mail as a way of apologizing for sounding so off over the phone. Matt has never seen this side of me before, so he must be confused by my behavior. I feel the duty to convince him that there's nothing to worry about. The last thing I need is more drama.

In the moment I finish writing my sincere letter of apology to my fiance, an e-mail from Katherine pops up.

_"What a better way to start your day than this?"_ it says, couple of winking faces following that sentence. I open the picture she attached to it - it's a public poll she did on my draft. 6% of people said that they don't think the idea is anything special, 17% are feeling indifferent towards it, but 77% thinks that the idea is innovative and fresh.

"What are you smiling about?" I hear my dad's voice on the other side of the room.

I raise my look up from the screen to him. I've been smiling? Really? I haven't even noticed.

I shrug. "Work."

He looks at me weirdly, but doesn't comment on it. Instead, he walks over to his armchair and makes himself comfortable in it.

After a period of awkward silence, of me pretending that there's something interesting on my screen while I'm actually staring at the same picture for almost five minutes now, of him glancing my way every few seconds, itching to say something, he opens him mouth to speak. "Listen, sweetheart, I wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday.." he clears her throat, coughing several times in a row.

He's apologizing, which means that he had a conversation with my mum, and that she made him do it. He would never do it on his own.

"You were right, you have a new life now, and you're a different person than you were back then. If you say you're happy, then I believe you, and it's not my place to tell you what to do with your life," he says, but what he really means is _I don't really support your choices, but I don't condone them either because you wouldn't listen to me anyway._

"Matt is a really great guy, dad," I say in good will, "You're going to love him."

He smiles weakly, and I can tell that his smile is fake. "I'm sure I will, honey."

I bite my lower lip, looking down. "Why didn't you tell me that Stefan owns the Empire? Or that Caroline married Damon, for that matter.."

He doesn't say anything for quite a while. Actually, he doesn't say anything until I look back at him. He looks at me sympathetically, as if to tell me that his words are not of evil nature.

"Honestly, honey, I didn't think you care."

His words feel like a slap in the face, but I accept them as they are - I've never given him a reason to think otherwise.

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: Happy New Year, everyone! I wish you all the best :)<em>**


	6. Chapter 6

"I want a bagel," I groan into the phone, squeezing my Caramel Flan Latte, which is resting safely in my Starbucks cup, with my fingers. My only contact with the real world. "Greasy, yummy, salty bagel," I close my eyes, imaging the deliciously fattening taste of buttery dough, melting in my mouth.

"They don't have bagels in Darling?" Bonnie asks with her mouth full. I barely recognize her voice. She's probably munching on a cinnamon sugar doughnut from Doughnut Plant. Just thinking about all the delicious food they don't sell here hurts. I must stop inflicting pain on myself.

"They do," I furrow my brows, "But they sell them in a plastic bag, dry and flat. Have you ever had a dry and flat bagel, Bonnie?" I ask with a serious voice, as if a dry, flat bagel is the worst thing that could ever happen to a person.

"No, I can't say that I have," she sounds genuinely horrified by the thought. "Speaking of dry and flat, has Katherine e-mailed you the poll results on your draft?" I can hear her sucking her fingers over the phone. She's definitely having doughnuts, and now she's cleaning her fingers from the leftover cream on her skin before she turns everything around herself greasy.

Her comment makes me chuckle. "Yeah, I have," I take a sip of Heaven from a cup, allowing it to steam off in my mouth a little before letting it go to warm up my tummy.

"I know you proposed it because of your ulterior motives," she makes me seem like I'm some evil mastermind, "But people seem to dig the idea. Something great might come out of it," I can imagine her nodding her head excitedly.

"I don't know.." I say wearily. It's not something I've imagined myself ever doing or writing about.

"You can write a book about how your divorce launched your career!" she squeals, but then the sound disappears, and her voice adapts a more normal tone, "Speaking of, how's the whole divorce thing going?"

"Um, good, it's going good," I say awkwardly, not sure how to react, since getting a divorce isn't really an achievement I should be excited about. "He's going to sign the papers.. Actually, I'm headed over there right now."

"Oh," she lets out disappointingly, "That's it? I kinda hoped he would fight you on it," she sighs.

At that, I laugh nervously. The idea of it makes me.. "I didn't marry Hugh Grant, Bonnie."

She exhales a silent _whatever_. "Look, I got to go before Katherine catches me doing everything but my actual job. We'll talk later, okay?" the sentence sounds like a question, but I very well know that it's a command.

"Yeah, for sure."

"Love ya."

* * *

><p>I drink my Caramel Flan Latte and throw the cup before entering the Empire. There's something tacky about consuming one product in another place of business.<p>

It's lunch time and the place is packed again. There's not one booth available - some people are even sitting by the bar, munching on what seems to be a hefty, rich sandwich. It's like no one eats at home around here anymore.

"Elena!" I can see Caroline waving at me from across the room, followed by her overly excited voice shouting my name. No one looks up at the mention of my name. I either became old news already, or the food is that good here.

I smile at her - God, I've missed her bubbly, always cheerful personality. One of the rare things I actually miss when it comes to this town - and wave back, walking over to her.

She takes her apron off and hangs it on a hook under the counter, still smiling widely. "Is this a normal look for you now, or are you trying to make me insanely jealous?"

Her question takes me off guard, partly because there's never been any competition between us when it comes to the way we look, and partly because I don't think I look that good right now. I'm wearing washed out skinny jeans, high black leather booths, a sweater Matt's sister got me for Christmas - one of her own designs, not my usual style, but it's so comfortable - and a vanilla colored leather jacket. "What?" I ask baffled, even though there's no need, since her tone is quirky, not serious.

She rolls her eyes. "Elena, the last time I've seen you, you were wearing short shorts and a pink top with a sparkly print that said _CUTE_ over your boobs. This," she motions with her hand towards me, "Is definitely an upgrade."

I look at her carefully, trying to decipher her actual feelings. She doesn't look jealous. Caroline and me talked about ditching this place when we were younger, but when we grew up she admitted to me that she could never leave this town or her family. In the end, she didn't want the same life as I did.

I look at her plain clothes - dark jeans and a white shirt. She still looks beautiful, with her big blue eyes, soft skin and shiny hair. She's always been one of the most beautiful people I've ever met. But she does look tired. I wonder, would she trade places with me now?

"Thank you," I reply shyly, my cheeks warming up.

"So, I'm just about to go on my lunch break," she waves to another waitress standing on the other side of the room, by the skating rink, "Join me?"

"Actually, I was hoping I would find Stefan here.." I look around in case I've missed him in the sea of customers.

"You wanna have lunch with Stefan?" she asks, her voice in a full teasing mode.

I know that she's joking, I can sense it in the way her voice vibrates with low laughter as those words leave her mouth, but the very idea of it makes me uncomfortable. Nervous. "Is he going to be back soon?" I avoid the question altogether.

"Um, yeah, he should be back in half an hour. He took Daniel to his baseball practice since Damon is swamped with work. Have lunch with me!" she proposes again.

"Here?" I ask, and she nods excitedly, thinking I'm one step closer to agreeing to have lunch with her. "In case you haven't noticed, the place is full," I chuckle.

"Oh, let me worry about that," she says, grabbing my wrist and squeezing it tightly with her bony fingers, taking the initiative and dragging me in the back. "We have our own place to eat," she turns her head to me and winks, leading me towards a small set of tables near the kitchen. There are two women already sitting at one of the tables - cleaning ladies, I think - and Caroline greets them as they curiously stare in our direction, their eyebrows rising slightly.

"You so need to try the cheesewhich," she moans. When I sit, she throws a red cardboard menu at me.

I blink a few times before my eyes go lazily over the menu. "Cheesewich?"

"Cheese sandwich. Stefan likes to give them weird names," she rolls her eyes as if she's annoyed by it in the same amount I find it weird. "Anyway, there are at least ten different types of cheese in it. You still like cheese, don't you?" she says in a tone that says _if you don't, we totally can't be friends anymore_.

"Yeah, I do," I reply, because I really do love cheese, in every shape and size. Cheese is one of the greatest things in this world. You can put it on almost everything, if you're daring enough.

"Ric!" she yells, giving me no choice in the matter, "Two number threes!"

"You got it!" a deep male voice shouts back from the kitchen.

"So!" she claps the palms of her hands, a wide smile stretching across her lips, "Tell me everything! How's New York?"

"Oh, just beautiful," all of a sudden, I feel an underwhelming need to share. Usually I have a lot of things to say about New York. Better than just beautiful. But out of some reason talking about it with Caroline feels strange. Like she doesn't belong to that world and shouldn't know anything about it, because if she does, she'll become a part of it, and she will drag a lot of things with herself in it. Things I don't want there.

But the scowl on her face frightens me more than my actual fear of revealing too much of my life to these people. "So crowded, though. You can't even imagine the amount of people on the streets. It took me years to accommodate to their numbers. Also, the noise, there's always some noise," it would seem as if I'm complaining if I didn't use a tone of pure amazement.

"You like it there?"

"Oh, yes!" I say enthusiastically in the moment a man comes out of the kitchen and places two plates in front of us.

"Thanks, Ric!" Caroline says, already grabbing the sandwich from her plate with both of her hands. They're giant.

"You're welcome," he grunts, slowly walking towards the kitchen, dragging his feet behind him as if each weighs a ton.

I pull my plate closer towards me, lifting of the top panini bread to see what's inside. I don't like eating something if I don't know exactly what it is. Well, there's certainly a lot of cheese in it, and I do love cheese. Why does it look so familiar - this mash of ten different kinds of cheeses on top of various vegetables drenched in sauce? The name.. it's like I've heard it before. I mentally check all the restaurants I've been to recently to see if that's where I saw the name, but nothing comes up.

Like a memory that's too far for me to reach.

"Is there something wrong?" I hear Caroline's worried voice in the back of my mind.

"No, no," I shake my head, still staring at the sandwich as if it's my greatest enemy, a piece of the puzzle that just won't fit in with the rest. It's irritating.

And just as I'm about to let it go and enjoy what seems a delicious meal, my mind decides to let me in on its secret. At first, the naked, exposed memory I can see clearly in my mind now shakes me to the bone. I have deprived myself of such sheer and clear edged memories that the closeness and reality of it surprises me. I didn't happen to someone else, like I've been trying to convince myself for several years now.

But the beauty of it, just as I've feared, puts a smile on my face.

"Everything's fine," I clear my throat as I take the sandwich into my hands and bring it closer to my mouth. "So, uh, you and Damon, huh?" I ask more laid back, sounding more like a friend than an interrogator like I did the other day, cocking my eyebrow curiously in her direction.

"Uh, don't even start," she rolls her eyes, "I feel like I spent a year of my life explaining it to people."

I release a low laugh, biting into the sandwich.

Oh God.

Oh sweet, merciful Zeus.

It's delicious.

I almost moan while I chew it, swallowing greedily. I can't wait until it ends up in my stomach.

"How did it even start?" I ask curiously. I really want to know. It's one of the rare things I'm sad I missed out on. If someone asked me about Damon and Caroline being romantically involved I would tell them there's a greater chance of finding Bigfoot in front of their door, selling girl scout cookies.

She shrugs, clearly tired of the topic, especially after all these years. "One day he just woke up and decided to be less of a dick than he was, I guess," she smirks at her own witty commentary, "He's still a dick, don't get me wrong, it's just that now he's my dick."

I choke on a piece of a sandwich.

When she realizes what she had just said, her eyes go wide. "Oh, wow, that just came out wrong," she giggles in her traditional Caroline manner.

I smile, enjoying in the good, old tradition of not apologizing for saying something inappropriate, even if you're adult, if it's said in a joking matter. "And when did the baby come? Dany?" I ask quizzically, trying to remember his name.

"Daniel," she nods, "He was actually there before he proposed, even though he wasn't aware of my pregnancy."

I want to ask her how did she choose that name? And why? Who are the Godparents? Does he go to kindergarten? What is his favorite color? When did he start liking baseball? How much time does Stefan spend with him?

But _oh?_ is the only thing that comes out of my mouth.

"Well, I was acting really weird, with my mood swings which were, on top of my already variable personality, quite confusing. Damon actually thought I'm planning on leaving him, so he went out and bought a ring to propose. I know," she rolls her eyes, "Not the most romantic story. Him proposing just because he thought I'm going to leave him. But I wasn't planning on leaving him, and the fact that he was afraid I might do so.." she bites on her lower lip, smiling.

True, not the most romantic story. I go back several weeks into the past, trying to remember Matt's proposal, which shouldn't be this hard since it wasn't so long ago. It wasn't really romantic either which is, I'll admit, kinda my fault. He was sweet about it, his speech was lovely, but everything was so.. technical. Expected. Not surprising at all.

"So when he got on one knee and uttered the words _will you marry me_, I started crying. And not that cute _I'm so happy you want to spend the rest of your life with me_ type of crying. There were waterfalls falling out of my eyes," she laughs, enjoying retelling the story, enjoying the memory of it. "And then he said, like a little lost kid, _Caroline please don't cry, please don't leave, you're the best thing that ever happened to me, I just don't know what I would do without you_. Which is when I stopped crying and narrowed my eyes at him, a bit irritated, and told him that I can't leave his sorry ass now that we're going to have a baby. Ha!" she says victoriously, and in a way that she says it, I finally find a reason behind their relationship. "You should have seen the dumbfounded look on his stupid face!"

"You seem really happy, Caroline," I make an observation, "And Daniel is so beautiful. How old is he?"

"Four," she says quietly. It's a delicate word. It's a delicate age.

"Four.." I say slowly, the word knitting a barrier in my throat, "He looks like Stefan."

I don't look her in the eyes as I say those words.

"Yes, he resembles him a bit," I can feel the awkwardness in her voice, "I guess he was just lucky like that."

Nervous laughter from her side, dead silence from mine.

"When I saw him, I thought that Daniel is his," I say. The words sneak out of my mind and find their way outside, crossing the border of my lips without a permission.

She doesn't know what to say. The silence is awkward. Deafening.

"Have you been to the.. to visit.." she doesn't know how to say it, how to bring it up, how to not judge me for my actions, how to still be my friend while she thinks that me leaving was the worst thing I could have done at that point. She said so herself. The last words she had ever said to me, over the static electricity of the phone. Maybe she forgot.

Maybe she just pretends that she did.

I look at her, my eyes pointed, the look behind them blank. Just like I've practiced it, completely emotionless, not giving away my connection to the subject. _Just as if it happened to someone else_. "No," I say sharply, and the tone of my voice lets her know that this conversation is over.

We don't have to dig our way out of this awkward conversation since a familiar voice does it for us.

His hand falls on my shoulder, the tips of his fingers squeezing gently the edges of my bone, his palm so familiar that I can feel the lines of his skin etching their way, like a map, onto mine. "Hi, wife," he says, and his voice creates a whirlwind of emotions inside of my body, turning my organs into ruins of some former life. Caroline watches his movements closely with a mixture of surprise and fear, for either him, or me, or both of us.

"We're having lunch. What do you want?" Caroline snaps at him in a way I'm not longer allowed to.

"I just came here to inform you that your son is safely in the hands of his father."

"If he's with his father, he's not safe," Caroline groans.

Stefan laughs with laughter I haven't heard for such a long time, and the sound that used to bring me so much joy now only reminds me of the reasons it died away.

"What are you having?" he removes his hand from my shoulder, but I can still feel it there, like he burned his imprint, not into my skin, but deeper, where no one but the people who are a part of me have access to.

"Cheesewhich," Caroline says excitedly, as if she forgot that we're actually in the process of eating.

"Ah," he says knowingly, "Are you enjoying it, Elena?" he teases. He knows. He remembers.

I smirk without looking up at him. "Yeah, I am. I've been lured in. However, that's not why I'm here. I came by to ask you did you get a chance to sign our divorce papers?"

"Oh," he lets out, "You know, I really wanted to, but a terrible accident has happened."

I can see Caroline cock her eyebrow in his direction, silently saying _you're full of shit_.

"Remember Nessa?" he proceeds.

My throat tightens. Of course I remember Nessa, I was the one to pick her out of all the puppies from a tiny, cardboard box in the market place. "Yes," I squeeze out, my fingers convulsing in my lap.

"I was going to sign 'em, you see. I came home, put 'em on the table, went to pour myself a drink and find a working pen. When I came back, do you know what I saw? Nessa munchin' on 'em."

This time I look up at him, narrowing my eyes. "Really?"

"Really," he nods, his expression serious, "I guess she didn't like 'em. She doesn't like having ugly things in the house, so she ate 'em. Just like she ate those ugly slippers of yours."

"Those slippers were not ugly!" I yell at him, offended by his comment, because I know exactly which slippers he means, and they were so damn comfortable. I loved them, and Nessa ate them in one sitting. When I went back for another pair, they didn't have my size. "Are you making this up?"

He puts his palm over his chest, acting as if I've offended him. "Why would I be making this up? The poor dog can't poop!"

Caroline lets out a laugh, and Stefan grins at her before shifting his attention to me.

"I'll tell you what," he puts one of his hands on the edge of the table, and the other one on the back of the chair, leaning down, "We're having a party here tomorrow night. Why don't you come by and bring me a new set of papers to sign?"

He tries to stay serious, his expression hard, but innocent, while there's a tiny devious smile dancing in the corner of his lips.

I stare at him, trying to figure out the aim of his game, which is probably just to torture me. A payback for how I left, for how I broke things off between us.

"Fine," I say calmly.

I'm not going to let him make me feel guilty for the best choice I made for myself in my entire life.

* * *

><p><em>"Elena?" I hear his sleepy voice calling my name from another room.<em>

_I tried to be quiet, to not wake him up for my wimps. He has to get up early for work tomorrow. He told me million times already that my efforts are futile because he doesn't know how to sleep without me next to him anymore._

_I don't answer him, he will find me. He always does._

_I can hear his footsteps on the floor, approaching me. As if I left a trail behind me, helping him to find me._

_"Baby," he enters the room, rubbing his eyes, protecting them from the light coming from the open fridge, "What are you doing? It's the middle of the night, come back to bed," he says, still unaware of what I'm doing here._

_"I'm hungry," I inform him. I'm always hungry. Hunger wakes me up in the middle of the night and I roam the house like some savage, trying to find something to eat. Anything, really._

_"So you've emptied the fridge?" he finally notices all the food around me, on the table, on the counters. On the floor. In my hands._

_"I'm hungry, but I don't know what to eat," I cry out, irritated by this feeling that's haunting me for months now._

_He looks at me sympathetically, and in that moment I admire his patience, and appreciate the way he loves. Especially me._

_He takes the food out of my hands and places it back into the fridge, where it belongs. He puts his palms on my shoulders and starts guiding me towards the table. "Come," he says gently, urging me to sit down, "I'm going to make you something."_

_His voice is so soothing. I watch him as she puts all the food away, slices bread my mom made and brought us tonight and puts the ingredients in it, only God knows which and how many. It takes him fifteen minutes to do so._

_When he puts the plate in front of me I don't have the heart to tell him I'm not hungry anymore, so I bite into the sandwich which melts in my mouth._

_"Woah," I say as the first bite slides down my throat, "What is this?"_

_"Mostly cheese," he shrugs._

_"Cheese?" I squint into the sandwich, but the only thing I can see is the hot mess inside of two slices of bread._

_"Yeah, you love cheese, don't you?" he asks, even though he already knows an answer to that, so he doesn't wait for me to confirm it, "So basically, I've put every type of cheese I could find between two slices of bread."_

_And there are a lot of types of cheese in our house. I made sure of it._

_"Cheesewhich," I whisper before taking another bite._

_He laughs, genuinely, from the top of his lungs, looking at me lovingly with his sleepy eyes. "Yeah, a cheesewhich."_

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: Sorry for taking me this long to update, my exams have started, so I'm kinda busy at the moment. I hope new year started lovely for all of you, let's make it a good one! I hope you've enjoyed the chapter! :)<em>**


	7. Chapter 7

I can hear Bonnie's piercing laughter so clearly over the phone that I have to move it away from my ear in order to preserve my sense of hearing. "Wait," she snorts, desperately trying to catch her breath and fill her lungs with much needed air. "A grown man actually used a _'dog ate my homework'_ type of excuse?" laughter starts bubbling inside of her throat again.

"I'm really joyful my miserable life fills you with amusement," I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes while digging through my suitcase. I haven't even unpacked, I didn't even think I'm going to stay here for so long. I thought I'm going to be out of this place and back in New York in a week, tops.

I thought Stefan couldn't wait to sign our divorce papers and be done with me in every way possible. I thought there's no chance Katherine would accept my proposal.

"I'm sorry," she chuckles, obviously _not_ sorry, "But _'honey the dog ate our divorce papers'_ is something I've never heard before. And I've been living in New York my whole life! A lot of guys here use a lot of shitty excuses."

That's true, but Stefan's always been special and creative in that area, ever since we were kids and he had to excuse himself from not doing his homework.

"I kinda believe him, Nessa eats everything she gets her paws on," I don't know why I defend him. Take his side in what's clearly an elaborate scheme to deliberately mess with me.

"Nessa?"

"The dog."

"Wait a minute," her voice turns all serious, as if she just comprehended the severity of my situation, "His dog is actually your dog? You two owned a dog together?"

I don't reply anything to that question, partly because I don't think there's really any real need to point out further that we indeed owned a dog together. And partly because the tone of her voice makes me think there's a point hidden behind it, and I'm afraid to find out what that point is.

"Girl, you've been trying to convince me what you had wasn't serious. A stupid mistake you made right after finishing school. But owning a dog together takes serious commitment."

My web of lies keeps thickening, and it's hard to build viable arguments based on lies. Her words make my throat tighten, but my mind doesn't stop producing thoughts or words, it just keeps them from falling out of my mouth. _We owned a lot more than just a dog._

"It's just a dog," I try to turn the whole thing into a joke, but we both know it's more than _just a dog_ - her theoretically, me emotionally. Nessa is a metaphorical foundation of the life we were supposed to build together.

"Umm, no," she says with her '_I'm your totally laid back - new age - trust me I read Eat, Pray, Love - psychologist_' type of voice, "If you owned, for example, a gold fish, you could say it's _just_ a gold fish. A dog is a whole other level."

She has a point and I hate when she has a point because, somehow, it never works to my advantage.

"Whatever. You're supposed to be team Matt," I point out, hoping to create a certain amount of guilt in her.

I'm met with a short period of silence. "I wasn't even aware that there are teams. Are there teams, Elena?" she whispers into the phone.

"No!" I yell, knowing exactly what she's aiming at. At the same time, I pull out the dress I've been looking for and fall right on my ass. "Not like that, at least. There are team _loving fiance_ and team _ex husband slash douche who won't sign our divorce papers_."

"Elena, you know that I like Matt. He's nothing but good and kind and successful and he's so good to you, and for you. _But_," she points out, "He's as exciting as a broomstick, and we both know how wild you can get after several shots of tequila. I'm the one who has to look at your face when it falls after he tells you, week after week, that he would rather stay home, order take out and watch a movie," she sighs. She has never told me this - that my face falls, and I haven't noticed it. "I just want you to be happy, even if it's with a nobody in a no name town on the edge of the Earth."

"You sound just like my dad," I groan, "I came here to throw the last piece of my former life in the trash. When did the possibility of going back to it become open for sale and how come no one asked me?" I frown, angry at this sudden twist and turn my life has taken without as much as informing me.

"So there's not even a slightest possibility you still might have lingering feelings for your ex lover, feelings you buried deep inside of you because you're actually emotionally unstable modern woman who escaped to the greatest city in the world to run away from her problems?" she asks casually.

"God, you're making my life sound like a trashy romance novel!" I say, rubbing my forehead, trying to straighten all the creases, getting slightly irritated by this conversation. "And no, I came here to make peace with the past so it doesn't affect my future. My future with Matt. My past with Stefan has no say in it. Moving to the more joyful topics," I beam, "What do you think of my Desigual dress?"

I can practically hear her raising her eyebrow. "For what?"

"For a casual social gathering," I choose my words carefully.

She chuckles. "If by casual social gathering you mean a wild party, it's too reserved. Did you bring that cute sparkly silver dress you bought at that store on the 7th Avenue?"

"Yeah," at least I think that I did. I basically packed my whole closet. I have a serious problem and I don't want to talk about it.

"Wear that one," she suggests.

"Why?"

"Because that's the dress you wear to impress. Also cause car accidents. And make your ex husbands do whatever the hell you want."

* * *

><p>Katherine has bombarded me with e-mails, telling me she expects the draft of my first article by tonight. That was two days ago. Now she demands I have the full article by the end of the week.<p>

And I have close to, oh, zero ideas. I have no idea what to write about. I haven't really thought this through, have I?

I've made myself a giant cup of tea and locked myself in my room with my laptop. Just as I was in the process of brainstorming, someone decided to mow their lawn. _Just my luck_. The sound was distant, so it didn't really bother me, and for how long can they mow, anyway?

I closed the window and pulled the curtain over it, making my room as dark as my future is going to be if I don't think of something to write about as soon as possible. And not just something, but something amazing, brilliant, simply outstanding. Award worthy.

I grin as I imagine myself receiving the award for the most outstanding article of the year. _I would like to thank my family and my friends and most importantly my readers.._

My train of thought gets cut off by the mowing sound which seemed to approach me while I was daydreaming about an award that most likely doesn't even exist. It's like the sound is coming from our backyard..

I jump from my bed and violently yank the doors of my bedroom, storming towards the back of the house, angry with the thought that my dad is doing hard labor despite the doctors orders.

"Dad, don't you - " I start, but stop myself as soon as I step outside and see that my dad isn't the one with the lawnmower attached to his hands.

He doesn't have a shirt on. Again. I have a clear view of his tight back, his muscles rigid and hard, as if they're made out of clay. He looks as if he's been prized away from a rock before getting sculpted in a most perfect shape.

Stefan's always been buff, in a way all country boys are, but since the last time I've seen him without a shirt he's gotten.. wow.

Don't get me wrong, Matt's skin is also tightly wrapped around several visible muscles, but he's buff in a '_my fraternity had a gym_' sort of way. Stefan is more raw.

"See something you like?" his voice pulls me out of my own thoughts. I lock eyes with him. He's wearing that silly grin on his face, happy he had busted me in doing something I _so_ wasn't supposed to be doing, his expression emphasized by a cocked eyebrow.

I compose myself quickly, for my own good. "I see a half naked stranger in my backyard, mowing my lawn while I'm trying to get some work done," I cross my arms over my chest, taking a stand.

"Work?" he leans his elbow against the handle, his biceps popping as if someone tucked a small planet under his skin. "What you doin'?" he chooses to ignore every other part of my sentence.

I cock my eyebrow at him. "Writing," I keep it short, "Can you please put some clothes on?"

"Why?" his voice vibrates with satisfying laughter. "Am I distracting you from your work?"

"Well, since I'm not working at a strip bar, yes!" I roll my eyes, irritated by the fact that the sight of him is indeed a distraction. For all the wrong reasons.

"Where you working at?" he tries to change the topic.

"At a magazine," I don't know why I feel the need to answer him. "Seriously, Stefan, it's winter."

"Elena, you and me both know that there's no winter in Darling. I'm doing manual labor, I'm hot," he smirks.

Yes. Yes he is. He's even sweaty. Drops of sweat are rolling down his torso. How the hell is he sweating in the middle of a winter? He looks like he popped out of a porn add. Highly artistic porn add.

I have to use every ounce of power in my body to stop myself from licking my lips, so I shift my emotions to another place, throw my arms in the air, like a child, and scream out of irritation before walking back inside.

"Are you still coming to the party tonight?" I can hear him yell after me, but he's smart enough not to follow me into the house. He's probably having so much fun right now.

As I make a turn, I almost bump into my mom who's carrying a pitcher of lemonade in her hands.

"Oh, Elena, darling!" she moans as our unexpected meeting almost throws the pitcher out of her hands.

"I'm so sorry!" I raise my voice while trying to steady the pitcher in her hands with my own fingers. When I'm convinced that it's safe, I ask, "Mom, what is Stefan doing in our backyard?"

"Mowing the lawn," she answers, as if it's that simple. Maybe, for her, it is.

"Don't you think it's a little weird that my ex husband kept in touch with you?" I whisper in case he's eavesdropping, which I highly doubt, but still.

She blinks, her forehead creasing. "You broke up with Stefan, doesn't mean we had to," her words make me wince. They sting. I would have expected something like that from my dad, but never my mom. "You know your father can't do certain things anymore, and we don't have enough money to pay someone else to do it for him. Stefan always mowed our lawn, and the week after you left, he appeared in our backyard with a lawnmower in his hands. And he's been doing it regularly ever since. Now excuse me, our guest is probably thirsty," she sidesteps me on her way to the backyard.

I feel like such a little shit, selfish little shit. I'm aware that my parents are not in the best financial situation, but they never wanted to take any money from me, especially after I moved to New York. They wouldn't even consider it.

Feeling bad for my behavior, I move to my room, barricading myself into it, feeling too guilty to face my mother again. Or any other human being, for that matter.

The only good thing that came out of this is that it gave me an idea what to write about.

* * *

><p>"Elena!" Caroline's voice overrides the too loud music in the room, "You came!" she throws her arms around me, pulling me into a hug. I can smell alcohol on her, and over her shoulder I can see a bunch of young women staring back at us, some whispering among themselves, smiling devilishly.<p>

I swallow the foul feeling accumulating in my throat, the same feeling I used to get back when I was 16 and saw them approaching me as a group.

The Empire takes a whole different turn when the sun falls down, and shifts from a family friendly restaurant to a, from what I can see, crowded and popular night club.

"You look super cute," she gives me a once over, staring at my dress greedily, with evident jealousy. I decided to go with the dress Bonnie suggested I should wear, after all.

"Thanks!" I smile at her, "So do you!" because she really does. Caroline always used to look great, in every edition, but when she gets all dressed up, every other girl in the room has a full right to envy her.

"Are you drunk?" I raise my eyebrow, eyeing the drink in her glass from the corner of my eye.

"Buzzed!" she says happily, as if being buzzed brings her much joy, as if she wasn't in this relaxed state for a very long time. "I left Dany with my mom!" the way she says it makes me think she can't even remember the last time she didn't have responsibilities. I don't judge her. As much as she loves her life, even with all the difficulties it brings, every woman needs some time for herself. "Come say hi to the gang!" she wraps her fingers around my wrist and pulls me towards a group of women sitting by the table behind her.

"Elena, you remember the girls," she points at all four of them. Rebekah, Rose, April and Liv. Yeah, I remember them. How could I ever forget bitchy Bekah, '_on too many pills_' Rose, withdrawn April and '_I don't care_' Liv.

"Hello," I greet them with a smile on my face. Rebekah is glaring at me, her judgment piercing through me, while April is staring shyly at the floor. Liv looks uninterested, as always, and Rose is the only one who beams up at my presence.

"Elena!" she yells my name, her lips stretching into a wide smile, "I can't believe it's really you! I've heard you're back!"

"Just visiting," I decide to clear that once and for all. I'm not back, I just dropped by for a quick visit.

"Just visiting?" April asks shyly from her corner, glancing at me from under her eyelashes, and Rebekah grins at her, like she knows that there's an ulterior motive to her question, one I'm not aware of.

"Yeah, I came to see my parents and take care of some things," I point out, which gives April a reason to breathe normally again. It's like she's been holding her breath ever since she saw me. Weird, I was always on good terms with her.

"And it took you just, what, six years to do that?" Rebekah makes a comment without an ounce of humor in her voice, driving me to lock eyes with her. I won't go into a confrontation with her. I'm just here to take care of my business and then I'll be on my way back to New York. I won't have to see any of these people again, hopefully.

"You look great!" Rose says more cheerfully, more friendly, trying to disintegrate the atmosphere Rebekah has created, which was always her job. Some things never change.

"Doesn't she?" Caroline agrees, "So fancy!"

"Like she fell out from a magazine!" Rose shouts, lifting a glass of wine in the air before gulping it down.

Before I get a chance to say anything, to express my gratitude for the never ending compliments, another voice interrupts us.

"Well, well, well," he says smugly, "Isn't it my favorite sister in law?"

Damon appears next to me, wearing his signature grin, which is in a great measure different from Stefan's grin. "I'm your only sister in law," I make a comment. He hasn't changed a bit. His hair is still messy, and he's still dressed in all black, blending in with the background.

"Ah, see, you never know, maybe my brother has more wives scattered along the country," he chuckles. Damon, always so brutally honest, forward, without a hair on his tongue.

"I've missed you, Damon," I give him a hug, and he wraps his arms around me, "In a masochistic kind of way."

He laughs loudly into my ear.

"I see time away from my brother did you good," he gives me an indirect compliment.

"Is that how you talk about me behind my back?" Stefan's voice causes a disruption in the most hidden and private places of my mind and I pull away from Damon, taking a step back towards Caroline, whose sole energy radiates support.

Thankfully, he has a shirt on, but a tight, black one, wrapping around his body, short sleeves exposing his biceps, which doesn't help. Wearing clothes doesn't make him any less hot, but somehow has an opposite effect. He has a green apron tied tightly around his waist and there's a plastic tray on one of his palms.

Damon frowns. "You workin'?"

"Your wife bailed on me and now I'm short on staff," he gives Caroline a pointed look.

But Caroline just shrugs. "I deserve a night off."

"Stefan, darling," Rebekah says with her thick accent, throwing her hair, full of hair spray and other various products, over her shoulder. "Could you get me another one of these?" she puts a tumbler on the tray, smiling wickedly at him.

"Sure," he gives her a stiff smile, "Does anyone else want anything. Elena?"

"No, thank you," I shake my head. Alcohol is the last thing I need in my life right now. "I just came by to give you these," I lift an envelope I've been gripping with my fingers from the moment I came in, and push it over the table towards him. He's quick to take it into his hands and hide it away in the pocket of his apron.

"Do you think you could take care of it tonight?" I ask hopefully.

"If you haven't noticed, we're packed. I'll give them to you tomorrow," he responds, his voice.. blank. Emotionless.

"Stefan, maybe you should ask April if she wants something to drink," Rebekah says mischievously, and the atmosphere around the table changes. Rose gasps, Caroline sighs, Liv's eyes sparkle with interest and April looks more shy, pointing her look further towards the floor, if possible. Stefan's jaw tightens and anger flashes through his eyes, like lightening.

I'm clearly missing something and, apparently, so is Damon, because he opens the topic that has nothing to do with Rebekah's suggestion. "What's that? In the envelope?"

"Elena wants me to sign our divorce papers," Stefan says coldly, still looking at Rebekah, angry at her for creating an unpleasant atmosphere. I want to know as much as I don't want to know.

Now all eyes are on me, especially Damon's, who looks like he doesn't understand what's going on, seeking answers from me, like a confused child.

"Elena," Caroline says my name, wrapping her arm around my waist, "Come dance with me!"

Before I know it she's pulling me towards the dance floor. Towards freedom and salvation.

* * *

><p><em>"Mom sends you ice tea," I come outside, wearing nothing but shorts and the top part of my bikini, "But if you don't drink it right away, it might start boiling. I swear it's 120 degrees outside!" I give him a glass of ice tea.<em>

_I have a feeling he would rather pour the contents of the glass on himself than in himself._

_"Thanks," he smiles, and dimples appear on his cheeks, something I started noticing only recently. Funny how I haven't seen them before, or given them much attention._

_"Thank you, for doing this," he's fixing my dads truck. Last week he painted our fence, and the week before that he mowed our lawn. "My dad is.." I don't want to talk about it, "And we don't have money to.."_

_"Elena, it's okay," he says when he notices I'm struggling with words, "It's no problem," he smiles at me before going back to the truck._

_His jeans are hanging comfortably on his hips and his torso is exposed. He's strong, his body is solid, moving like waves at the sea. He's all muscle and skin and I have to look away because I'm getting hot and it's not from the heath._

_"Why don't you go to the swimming hole?" he asks me, "Damon told me he's going to be there. The girls as well."_

_"You know I don't like the girls," I sit down on the stairs, shielding my eyes from the sun with the palm of my hand._

_"You like Caroline," he points out._

_"Caroline understands. Plus, I'm tired of watching your brother act like a monkey around her just because he doesn't know how to tell her that he likes her," I roll my eyes._

_"My brother ain't got a thing for Caroline, Lena," he grunts._

_"Yeah, right," I chuckle. How am I the only one who's able to see that? Are everyone else completely and utterly blind? Whatever Caroline would never give him a chance, anyway. "He so does. Just like Rebekah's got a thing for you," I point out._

_"Yeah, I know. She basically tried to crawl into my pants the other night," he tells me._

_"You haven't told me that," I don't know why, but the fact that she just as much as tried to touch him fills me with rage. "Maybe that's why she hates my guts, because she thinks we have a thing, and she doesn't understand that we're just friends."_

_"Right," is all he says._

_"She says there's no way a boy and a girl can be just friends, but we're a perfect example that they can," we've been friends since we were kids, and nothing has spoiled that fact for years._

_"Right," he repeats._

_"So, did you let Rebekah crawl into your pants?" I ask out of curiosity, but a part of me really doesn't want to know._

_"No. She ain't my type," he answers simply._

_I cock my eyebrow at him. "And what's your type?"_

_"A girl that hasn't slept with my brother," he points out._

_"Ha!" I say, "Good luck finding that."_

_"Well, you haven't slept with my brother," he turns his head to me, looking at me for a moment or two, before asking, "Have you?"_

_I grimace. "That's disgusting, Stefan. Plus, I'm not in the running. What about April?" I jump to my feet, walking to the other side of the yard._

_"April's dad is a minister."_

_"You know what he said?" I unbutton my shorts and wiggle out of them, "That I'm sinful."_

_"Well, look at you," he flashes me a grin, "You kinda are sinful."_

_My mouth fall open. "Wow," I take the hose in my hands and twist the handle to start the water, "You're so going to pay for that."_

_I point the hose at him just at the moment the water starts pouring out. Before he gets a chance to react, he's already wet from head to toe, sweat on his chest replaced by cold water._

_"Dammit, Lena," he yells, "Come 'ere!"_

_He starts chasing me and I start running away, still pointing the hose at me. He's faster and the grass is starting to get slippery, the ground muddy, so he catches me and directs the hose at me. Water starts pouring from the top of my head to my toes._

_"Stop!" I yell, water getting into my mouth, "I surrender!" but as I try to fight him, he slips, pulling me down with him, and I fall on the top of him._

_We both laugh as he tries to turn the water off. His back is probably all muddy, just as my palms are, so I press them against his chest._

_"You're not sinful, Lena," be says when he realizes what I'm doing, "You're pure evil."_

_I lock my eyes with him and in that moment, when our looks meet, the whole world disappears. The heath and the mud and water, wet slippery grass prickling the skin of his back._

_All I can feel is his skin on mine - I don't know where he ends and I begin. We're touching in a way friends shouldn't be touching and he's looking at me as if I just saved him from certain destruction and he's beautiful in a way no boy should be beautiful. His hair is wet and he looks so childish, just like he did ten years ago, when we were in the exact same situation. But everything is different now, we're both grown up, and my body is reacting to his in a way it couldn't all those years ago. He touches me and his fingertips on the small of my back create a nuclear war inside of me._

_I move closer to him, my head starts falling down, our lips so close. We're still maintaining eye contact as our lips get dangerously close to each other. We both know there's no turning back now._

_"Elena!" my mother yells from the house, "Would you please come in and give me a hand?"_

_My mothers voice pulls me back into reality and what we almost did hits me in full speed. Instead of inching closer to him, I pull away. I jump on my feet and start moving towards the house with a running step._

_He stays there, on the ground, trying to figure out what the hell just happened._


	8. Chapter 8

"Elena, I'm telling you, the numbers went off the roof," Bonnie says, squealing into my phone - which is how I know she's trying really hard not to yell - excitement evident in her voice. "Katherine almost smiled. _Almost_," she points that word out, chewing on it, "Still, it was freaky."

That makes me chuckle, because Katherine never smiles. Sometimes the corners of her lips start twitching uncomfortably, but she rarely manages to pull of a whole smile, as if she's physically incapable of doing that.

"I can't believe it," I say, half surprised, half excited by this revelation. It was a good idea, even though I never really thought it's going to work. New Yorkers are very self absorbed people. Those who were born there don't want to leave, and those who moved there did so so they can get away from the rest of the world. There's no reason they would want to go back in any form - physically or mentally.

Maybe there is, though. Maybe it's the same reason why I haven't packed my suitcase yet and told Stefan to send me the divorce papers back by mail. Because as much as I'm trying to deny it, this place is my home and it's always going to be, no matter where I move to.

"Why?" I can hear her lips creak over the phone as she pulls them into a mischievous grin, "Because the only reason you suggested it was as an excuse to handle your private affairs and now you'll most likely be stuck traveling to towns with no decent coffee or bagels, to review them?" she ends up giggling, not because she's evil, but because the whole thing sounds incredibly unreal and funny.

And when she says it, when I hear it outside of my head, it doesn't even sound so bad, or scary. Not the coffee and bagels part, but the traveling part. I have always wanted to travel more, and I have always wanted to write more.

"Also, the title - America's Darling? Absolutely genius!" she exclaims, pulling me away from the train wreck which are my thoughts, "We've been getting e-mails from people, asking are we interested in writing a piece about their towns! And it's only been a day!"

I stop, shaken up by the news. "Really?" I ask suspiciously.

"Yes!" she raises her voice, "Didn't you get at least one out of million e-mails Katherine had sent you?" she sounds as wearily as I do when those words leave her mouth.

"Uh," I exhale, "I didn't really get a chance to sift through my e-mails yet.."

I'm met with silence on the other side of the line, until I hear her say, teasingly. "All play and no work makes Elena a very, very bad girl. You had fun last night?"

"Hmm, well, let's see," I say sarcastically, rewinding to last night, trying to remember all the things that went wrong, which is not such a hard thing to do since pretty much everything went wrong. "I met up with a bunch of girls from high school who hate me more than they did back then, then I served my ex with our divorce papers in front all of them, including his brother, had one dance with a friend who's miraculously not angry with me anymore, and then I left."

"Oh, a brother? Is he hot?" Bonnie perks up.

"Really? That's the question you decide to ask?" I roll my eyes, "And he's married."

"That wasn't my question," she says mischievously. "Anyway, I have to go now, and you better reply to Katherine's e-mails as soon as possible. Love ya!"

"Got it," I reply, but before I'm able to say that I love her as well, she hangs up.

I look at my screen, thinking about opening my e-mails right here, right now, but I throw my phone back into my bag instead, biting my lower lip guiltily.

"Elena," I hear a soft, gentle voice saying my name while I'm thinking about what I've gotten myself into, work related.

I look up only to see April standing in front of me. "Hey, April," I'm a bit surprised to see her here, even though there's no reason to be. She's the one who belongs here, not me, not anymore.

"I'm just on my way home from work," she says shyly, like it's her duty to excuse herself to me.

I give her a once over, from head to toe, dragging my eyes slowly from her long, brown skirt that's hiding her shoes, to a clean, white button up shirt whose collar is squeezing tightly around her neck. I remember kids in high school teasing her for dressing the way she does - not that I did anything to stop them. I can't say I was some super moral supergirl, fighting for the better world. I was just like everyone else, trying to survive, and even though I didn't tease her because I knew her parents are super strict and that her wardrobe is probably more their demand than her choice, I didn't do anything to stop others from teasing her either.

I guess the way she was raised to dress just stuck with her, while my style went from trashy to classy. Not that any of us had much of a choice when it came to buying clothes in Darling - you could either shop at saint and holy, or trashy and whorish. If you wanted to buy something else, you had to drive over to Charlotte, and a lot of people couldn't afford that.

"I'm on my way to meet Caroline for drinks. Do you want to join us?" I try to be polite, even though I don't really want her there. Her presence always made me uncomfortable, like she's silently judging me all the time.

"Father probably needs help with the mass," she murmurs into her beard, probably aware that she's rambling nervously. "Maybe some other time. For how long are you staying?" she asks, even though I have a feeling she wants to know for reasons other than to have a cup of coffee with me.

"Not sure yet," I wiggle my lips, "Not for long, I hope." I probably sound like the biggest douche for saying that.

"You came just to give Stefan the divorce papers?" she looks at me from under her long eyelashes, blushing brightly.

And there it is. Does she have a thing for Stefan? Do they have a thing? He's not someone her parents would approve of. Or maybe he is now. I don't know anything about him anymore.

But then again, her one and only boyfriend wasn't someone her parents approved of, either. I wonder what happened to him.

"Yes," I just nod, though, because it seems rude to ask such a question. "That, and to visit my parents."

She smiles softly at me, clutching a stack of books close to her chest. "I have to go now, I don't want to keep father waiting. Send my regards to Caroline," she steps aside and starts walking in a direction opposite from the one I'm headed to, with a running step.

"I will," I whisper as I watch her leave.

* * *

><p>"How do you manage to look so good all the damn time?" Caroline cocks her eyebrow at me as we sit down in a nearly abandoned Starbucks. I swear, Darling has the smallest Starbucks ever, with least customers. In New York, you have to wait in line for at least five minutes, if you're lucky.<p>

"Please, stop saying that every time you see me," I groan, "My ego is going to bloat."

"Well, it's true," she looks around herself uncomfortably, as if she found herself in some new, unknown place. "I have never been here before.." she admits silently.

My eyes grow wide with surprise. Who has a Starbucks five minutes from their house and never goes there?

"Never?" I ask in disbelief. I guess that explains her startled look when I asked her what she's having, and why she answered with '_whatever you're having_'.

When she's done, she brings her eyes back to me. "I usually have coffee at Stefan's place. I don't drink it much."

"Ah," I say, smiling gently, as if I understand what's it like to not drink coffee. I can't function without it. "This isn't just coffee, though. This is masterpiece," I wink at her, and she manages a light smile while looking down at the plastic cup distrustfully.

"Look, if you don't feel comfortable here, we can go somewhere else," I say. I guess a lot of people don't feel comfortable here, which is why this place feels as if it's abandoned.

Shock shoots through her eyes when she shifts her attention from her drink to me. "Nonsense!" she spits out, as if I offended her just by saying that, "I get to see you once in six years, it really doesn't matter where we have coffee!"

I bow my head down, smiling. "It could have been sooner, you know?" I say, looking up at her through my thick eyelashes. "I've sent you countless texts and made thousand phone calls. You never returned any of them."

"I know," she blushes shyly, her cheeks adapting the color of her blood red shirt, "I was angry with you."

I stay silent for a moment or two, before softly speaking up. "Angry?"

She shrugs, as if it's not a big deal. "For leaving, running away. After you left, Stefan was.." she swallows, and by her expression a casual observer would think that she's swallowing acid, "He was a mess, and I hated you for doing that to him."

Her words are like a cold, hard slap across the face, and I actually wince upon hearing them, because my mind tries to dig out certain memories I've worked hard to forget.

I suppose she catches the expression on my face and corrects herself. "Not what you did to him, but what you leaving did to him. I'm the one who had to watch him fall down, then try to crawl back up. You were the only thing holding him together."

I shake my head. She has no idea how wrong she is. "My presence only made him more miserable."

Both of us stay quiet out of different reasons, until her voice finally breaks that silence. "You really think so?"

"I know so," I say. He told me as much. "Speaking of Stefan, do you know if he managed to sign our divorce papers yet?"

She keeps staring at me, or through me, as if she hasn't heard a thing I said. I wait for her to shake out of it, and when she finally does, she simply falls into the chair and says - "That's something you'll have to check with him."

"Caroline.." I say her name with a warning, "If I go over there, am I going to find another silly excuse?" I raise my eyebrow.

"I don't know," she says. She's either a really good actress, or she's actually telling the truth. "Maybe he doesn't want to sign them," she points out.

I furrow my brows, confused by her statement. "And why wouldn't he want to sign them?"

"Do you really have to ask me that question?"

Her answer shakes me up from the inside. Something is prickling at my bones, making them mellow and soft, and if I tried to stand up, I'm pretty sure I would crumble and fall at the spot.

"You know who I ran into today?" I decide to change the topic completely. "April."

Caroline's eyes go wide, and she shudders at the mention of her name.

"Yeah, she was acting really weird. At the club, too. Then I remembered Rebekah's comment, which got me thinking.. do Stefan and April have thing?" I shoot at her.

"No!" she's quick in her reaction.

"Okay, then let me try again. Did they ever have a thing?" I try again.

"Elena, it's really not my place to say anything.." she says guiltily, as if she just uncovered some big secret I wasn't supposed to be let in on.

"Which means yes. I knew it!" I say victoriously even though, out of some reason, my heart sinks deeper into my chest. "What happened with her last boyfriend? What was his name? Ryan, Riley? I always thought they're going to get married."

"Randy. He cheated on her with Marie Lu. They have three kids by now."

"Oh," I let out, surprised. Poor April. "I would have never matched her and Stefan together," I point out.

"She always had a thing for him."

"Everyone had a thing for Stefan at one point or another," I say with a light smile on my face, because it's true. Every girl in one point of her life had a thing for Stefan Salvatore.

"Not that I mind, obviously," I roll my eyes.

But a part of me does mind, which is highly unfair from me. A part of me still looks at him as if he's mine. My Stefan.. every girl wanted him, but I got to have him. Until I lost him. And the other part of me realizes that, that I've lost him. Gave up on him. And I've moved on myself, he has a full right to do the same.

And those two parts of me are in constant battle. One sparking up jealousy, and the other one trying to put it out.

"For how long were they together?" I ask with genuine interest.

She looks down at the table, sighing loudly as she wraps her fingers around a plastic cup. "You don't understand, Elena. After you left, Stefan really.." she looks up at me, trying to find the right words to say. "You think your presence made him miserable? You should have seen him after you left. At first.." she looks away, the unpleasant memory causing her pain. "At first he wasn't even aware that you're gone. He thought you're gonna come back in a few days. And when he realized that you won't.." she presses her lips together, "Well, let's just say he got worse before he got better."

I have a hard time believing her. I thought he had wanted me gone. He told me that I'm just a painful reminder of.. of _everything_. I spent countless sleepless nights in a cold, trashy apartment, thinking how happy he must be now that he's finally rid of me.

"I don't understand how April fits into this.." I say, because I don't know what else to say. I don't know how to feel, how to change something I've spent years convincing myself in? Because I thought it's the truth, because it was easier to assume than to face the reality?

"She was just there.." Caroline exhales, "She wanted to save him. Fix him. Put him back together. And he needed someone to talk to, someone to be there. One night, it just happened.."

I have to look away so she doesn't catch the expression on my face, uncomfortable pain slashing across my pupils.

"He felt so, so bad afterwards, especially when he had to explain to her that he can't be with her.."

"And how did she react to that?" I ask curiously.

"She was heartbroken, of course, but she understood him. And somehow that made the whole thing more difficult."

I don't know what to say, or how to react. My heart is beating wildly inside of my chest, pressing onto my lungs, making them pulsate, begging for air.

"I have someone," I blurt out.

Her eyes go wide as she stares at me, shocked and surprised by what I just said. Her mouth falls open as if she wants to ask, but at the same time doesn't want to know.

"A fiance, actually.." I say, my cheeks blushing, "That's why I came back. To ask Stefan for divorce so I can get married to someone else."

I look down at my ring finger, almost forgetting that I took the ring off when I got here. Before I left the house for the first time.

"Does Stefan know?" she chokes those words out forcefully.

"No," I shake my head, swallowing hard, "Just my parents."

"Good. Don't tell him," she says, her expression somber, serious, the lines of her face creased with warning, "Ever."

* * *

><p><em>Something wakes me up in the middle of the night - clumsy footsteps on the floor, furniture moving, things falling down, scraping the surface.<em>

_I get out of the bed, walking towards the source of all that noise. I walk into the living room and turn the lights on. All the cabinets are open, stuff threatening to fall out of them. Some are already on the floor. The drawers are pulled out of their rightful place, hanging one on the top of the other. He's bent down over one of them, digging through the stuff inside of it._

_"You're home," I say it as nothing else but a mere observation._

_"Yes," he doesn't say more than he has to. Lately, he never does._

_"What are you looking for?" I take a careful step forward. I'm afraid. I'm afraid of the person who until few months ago used to make me the happiest person alive._

_"Stuff."_

_"What stuff, Stefan?" I ask gently, careful not to upset him much, even though that's impossible. The mere sight of me upsets him._

_"You know what stuff," he brushes me off._

_"You took it to the attic," I tell him._

_"I would never do that," she snaps at me._

_"But you did. Few weeks ago. You said you want it as far away as possible.." I didn't have much say in it. I don't have much say in anything that happens lately. I don't deserve it, either. I'm in a prison of my own making. I have the key and I've locked myself in from the inside._

_He stops digging and straightens himself up, turning around to face me. His eyes are blank, glassy, hazy, glazed by some emotion I don't even recognize. He's never looked at me like this. Is this hate? Is this how he hates someone? I don't think Stefan has ever hated a thing in his life._

_"Are you drunk?" I ask, even though the answer is obvious._

_"It makes things more bearable," he pulls his fingers through his hair._

_Me. He means me. Being drunk makes having to be around me more bearable._

_"I can't do this anymore, Stefan," I cross my arms across my chest, digging my fingers into my flesh, distracting one kind of pain with another. Take a hair of the dog that bit you._

_"Why do you always have to make everything so hard, Elena?" he sighs._

_"We can't go on like this. You can't go on like this. Look at what you're doing to yourself, to us.." I say painfully. Words don't feel like words anymore, but splinters traveling from my stomach through my throat. And somehow, they hurt more when I get them out than they did while they were trapped inside of me._

_"What I'm doing to us?" he laughs, indicating at the irony of my words. "You - "_

_"I know that you blame me," I interrupt him before he manages to finish the sentence. I never let him do it, I'm too fragile to hear it._

_"I don't blame you!" he snaps, for the millionth time in the last few weeks, denying the truth, for only god knows what reason. "I just can't stand to look at you anymore."_

_He walks over to the couch, falls down on it and closes his eyes so he doesn't have to look at the tears in mine._

_"I'm so tired. Sometimes I just wish everything would disappear.."_

_And in a week, I did disappear from his life. After countless warnings, I packed my bags and wrote him a note, leaving the town in the middle of the night._

* * *

><p>After my coffee date with Caroline, I storm off to the Empire, fueled by various emotions ignited by all the new found information Caroline had supplied me with.<p>

I don't know how to excuse them, or explain them. I'm angry with him for acting the way he did, and I'm angry with myself for never looking back. I'm resentful and, to some extent, sad.

I don't feel regret, or maybe I don't allow myself to feel it. That chapter of my life is over. I've made my choices and I have to live with them - there's no turning back. Especially not now when I started rebuilding my life from scratch in a new place, among new people.

Surprisingly, I find him by the bar, dealing with some papers with a frown on his face.

"Those better be our divorce papers," I say when I come near him, half rough, half jokingly.

"Isn't it my lovely wife," he says without looking at me, his eyes still going over the papers.

"Soon to be ex wife," I say.

My comment makes him look at me, finally, and he grins satisfyingly. "Someone is hasty."

Hasty? I'm six years overdue.

I cross my arms over my chest, giving him a pointed look.

"Regarding our divorce papers.." he starts.

I roll my eyes. I can already see where this is going. "Let me guess. They magically set themselves on fire?"

He cocks his eyebrow at me, surprised, but yet amused by my answer. "Actually, I've put them here, right after you gave them to me. When I came back for them, they were gone," he explains, faking confusion.

"How.. coincidental," I say.

"Right?" he smirks, adding up to my already negative state of mind.

"Well, since you have a history with losing papers, I'm going to send you our divorce papers by e-mail."

"I don't have an e-mail," he counters me, like a stubborn child who has an answer to everything, always prepared for a fight.

"Stefan," I exhale his name, "You own a business, of course you have an e-mail."

He stares at me for a couple of moments, before a wide smirk climbs up his lips. He tears a piece of paper out of the notebook in front of him and writes something down before giving it to me.

"Touche," he says.

* * *

><p><em><strong>STEFAN'S POV<strong>_

The person you fall in love with becomes the most beautiful person you've ever seen. I've thought Elena is the most beautiful girl I've ever seen long before I fell in love with her. Or maybe that just means that I've always been in love with her.

No, when I fell in love with Elena she became something more than just simply beautiful.

When I look at her now, I realize how much she has changed. She's not a girl anymore, she's a woman, in every sense of the word.

The way she dresses probably tickles everyone's imagination, but I know what's underneath. I know every curve and every depth of her body, I know where each and every mole is placed, I know how her bones are shaped and where her skin is the thickest. I know her ticklish spots, and the most sensitive corners of her body. And I wonder, is everything still the same?

She's also.. stronger. And I'm glad for that. I'm glad she doesn't just stand by and endure anymore. But I'm also sad because I know that partly I'm the reason why she had to grow an extra layer of skin.

The way I treated her in the last couple of months of our shared life is not something I don't like to think about. What I did was horrible. No excuses, no justification, simply horrible.

I was hurting, but so was she. I was so selfish that I forgot I'm not the only one in pain. I was judging her for moving on, for not grieving as long as I have. It took me too long to realize that she didn't have time to grieve because she was too worried about losing me as well.

I took that away from her as well. I made my pain more important than hers.

I haven't loved her enough. I should have loved her more, better, the way I did before. I should have been stronger. But instead, I've allowed myself to fall apart.

She's a different person now. So am I.

But oh God, she's still the most beautiful woman I've ever laid my eyes upon. She's still the last thing I think about before I fall asleep. I'm in love with a memory of her, but when I see her, I want to love her whole. I want to love every new piece of puzzle she has added to the mix.

I want to love each and every layer she had added to her skin until the last time we've seen each other.


	9. Chapter 9

_"Of course he's into you," Caroline rolls her eyes, trying to apply her brand new red lipstick on her lips without using a mirror. She always enjoys a good challenge. "And you're into him," she states confidently, smacking her lips together, producing a popping noise. _

_She just got back from visiting her dad in Wilmington and asked me to come over to her house to check out all the stuff he had gotten her. He still feels guilty for cheating on her mom, leaving them for another woman and moving to another town, even though it's been more than __two years already, and Caroline is using that fact to her advantage. She always brings a pile of clothes back with her, clothes I get to borrow, which is a lot nicer than clothes we get to buy in our little 'middle of nowhere' town._

_I pull out a cute little summer dress from her suitcase, already seeing myself in it, glancing at her from the corner of my eye. "We're just friends, and you know it," I say with a certain amount of sharpness in my voice._

_"No, I know that both of you believe that you're just friends," she says victoriously, as if she just discovered the best comeback ever._

_"You're nuts," I shake my head, digging through her suitcase, "Also, you look like a clown. As far as I know, your upper lip doesn't reach all the way up to your nose."_

_She groans, reaching for the mirror. "Oh my God!" she exclaims when she sees her reflection, "My ultimate dream of applying lipstick without looking at myself in the mirror like an all powerful goddess of femininity is dead!" she pulls a moist tissue out of the box and wipes her face clean._

_I release a low chuckle at her tendency to make everything seem more dramatic than it actually is._

_"And I may be nuts, but at least I'm not in denial about some things like some people I know," she shrugs, wiping the last traces of lipstick from her face._

_"Denial?" my curiosity gets the best of me, "What things?"_

_A light smirk appears on her tiny, thin lips, as an ultimate sign of victory. "The way he looks at you when he thinks no one else is looking. Or his behavior when you started dating Tyler.."_

_The skin on my forehead creases with confusion. "What are you talking about? Stefan and Tyler are friends."_

_"Yeah, which is probably the only reason why Stefan hasn't smashed his face," her eyes go wide with confidence in what she's saying, "His knuckles turned white from squeezing his fingers into a fist every time you guys would kiss."_

_I pull my eyes away from hers so she doesn't see recognition in my eyes. I remember catching him looking away in those situations, but I didn't pay much attention to it back then. I thought it's weird, wrong, but the thought disappeared from my mind as soon and as simple as it appeared._

_"My favorite one is the expression on your face every time you would see him hooking up with another girl," she giggles, probably thinking about how clever and witty she is. Observant as well._

_"What expression?" I frown. I don't have an expression designed just for that situation._

_"Oh, you know, the one where you squeeze your eyes as if you just swallowed something sour, your upper lip starts twitching and your nose crinkles. It's there for several seconds and it's extremely hard to catch," she says, looking at me carefully in order not to miss my reaction to what she had just shared with me._

_I don't do that, I want to say, but as the words start climbing up my throat I start questioning them. Do I really do that?_

_"Come on, Elena," she rolls her eyes, the tone of her voice indicating that she's completely serious now. Everything up until now was a joking matter. "You can't say you don't find him attractive."_

_"Of course I find him attractive, but that's because I have eyes, not because I have a thing for him," I don't mention her our little incident in my backyard, that would only fuel her imagination. "Name me one person who doesn't think Stefan's hot," I challenge her._

_"Okay, you got me there," she wiggles her lips, trying to fight defeat, "But it really doesn't matter how many people are interested in him, the only thing that matters is that there's just one person he's interested in, and that person is you."_

_"Caroline.." I exhale her name, tired of this conversation._

_"You'll see. By the end of this school year, you two are going to be madly in love," she whistles joyfully, changing the course of our conversation before I get a chance to fight her on it, "Now, let's go try all this clothes!"_

* * *

><p>"You sound surprised," Katherine notices once she finally gets me on the phone due to my slacky job of replying to her e-mails. She sent me at least hundred of them, so I wanted to read them all before replying.<p>

"I have to admit that I am, a bit," I say, even though I'm surprised more than a bit. I'm torn between being scared of everything this might mean, and being proud of myself.

"Do not despair," she says as if she wants to comfort me, but the tone of her voice is so far away from it, "I had my doubts as well. In this city, you never know. People are too.." I can imagine her wiggling her lips, the color of her eyes darkening, "Shifty. Anyway, it seems that you've hit them with this topic at the right time."

_Yay?_

I don't know how to react.

"So, do you have an idea for the next chapter already?" she asks enthusiastically.

"N-next ch-chapter?" I stammer, caught off guard.

"Well, of course!" she exclaims, "We're going to milk this cow until we figure out our next step!"

I feel like stammering out the words _"next step"_ as well, but I stop myself before I'm able to do it.

"We also need a few good shots of the town, so I was thinking about sending photographers out there.." by now, she sounds like she's just thinking out loud.

An invisible hand starts enveloping its fingers around my throat. "We should wait until I develop an actual idea," I say as a proposal, but my voice sounds too harsh to be considered as one.

She doesn't say anything, and neither do I. Silence overwhelms all of my senses, making my organs shrink inside of my body, as if they're trying to cease to exist.

"Well, how long is that going to take?" she asks flatly, unhappy with my tone of voice.

"Oh, a day or two," I say warmly, even faking a smile, hoping she will feel it over the phone. Not the fake part, the smile part.

"Splendid!" she raises her tone, but not in an angry manner, "We'll talk when you come up with an idea, then. It sounds like you have a lot of work."

* * *

><p>"Is there something bothering you, sweetie?" my mom asks after I stroll into the kitchen, looking like hell, my eyes glued to the half empty coffee pot.<p>

I take the pot and pour coffee in my already used mug. It's cold and probably bitter, but I feel like that's exactly what I need right now. "No," I say as disappointment of my palm not getting warmed up by hot coffee through the ceramic overflows me.

She doesn't say anything to that, probably because she knows I'm lying, but she also knows that whenever I lie, I do it for a good reason. In this case, though, I don't have a good reason, and the guilt of brushing her off so easily starts eating me from the inside.

"Actually," I correct myself, pulling the chair out in order to sit, "Yes, there is something bothering me."

I take the first sip of the coffee, the bitter taste in my mouth shocking my sense of taste, making the inner side of my mouth protest.

"Oh?" she asks simply while kneading dough for whatever tasty, greasy, delicious dish with too many calories she's planning on making today.

"Stefan is refusing to sign the divorce papers."

Her forehead creases with confusion, but she still doesn't look at me. "Refusing?"

"I served them to him twice, and he had managed to lose them both times. I've sent them to him several days ago for the third time, and I still haven't heard back from him.."

"Ah, I understand," she nods. "Well, honey, did you ask him why?" she asks, as if it's that simple.

_Well, isn't it?_

"I didn't think there's a need to.." I make a face, "I figured he's going to be more than happy to sign them."

"And why would you think that?"

"Mom, come on," I roll my eyes, thinking she's playing dumb, "It only makes sense. He couldn't wait to get me out of his life. This marriage on paper is the only string still attaching us to each other."

This time she does look at me, her eyes wide, taking their time in carefully exploring my expression. "Oh sweetie, you couldn't be more wrong," she says sympathetically, as if she's feeling sorry for me. "You know, after you left," she bows her head down again, concentrating on her work, "He came over here, asking us for your address, telephone number, anything to get in touch with you."

That surprises me, but I never let it show. "Funny, 'cause I never heard from him."

She smiles, not because she finds the situation funny, but because she can sense my stubbornness. "That's because your father refused to give it to him. He told Stefan that you left because that's something you needed to do for yourself. You left on your own terms, and if you come back, it's going to be on your own terms as well, and not because someone pressured you into coming back."

I wonder.. I wonder if Stefan ever reached out to me, would I come back for him? For myself? Would my life be different? Would I be happier?

It's hard to imagine myself happier with my life than I am right now. Well, not in this exact moment, but if you look at the whole picture.

"That's hard to believe since dad never really supported my decision. He would have been happier if I stayed here," I state.

"Well, of course," she laughs under her breath, "So would have I. You're our daughter, we want you near. But we also want what's best for you, and when you decided to leave, you were in a position to know what's best for you yourself."

I bow my head down. "You don't know how hard it got by the end," I murmur.

"I know. He was in pain," she defends him.

A flash of anger surges through me. "So was I," I hiss through my closed teeth, tired of that excuse. His pain does not and did not excuse his behavior.

"I know," she says sympathetically, "So were we. So were your friends and the rest of your family. My point is that everyone express their pain differently. Everyone treat it differently. I'm not saying his behavior was right, but you can't blame him for experiencing pain in his own way. You two were so young.." she starts, drifting off.

At that moment, my phone buzzes in the pocket of my sweatpants, making my skin vibrate. I reach out for it, finding a text from Matt on my phone screen.

_"I love you. Can't wait to see you. Come back home soon, I don't know how to make anything but pop tarts and the delivery guy told me see you tomorrow. We're not ordering from Dominos anymore!"_

That puts a smile on my face. Matt is terrible in the kitchen. Once he over boiled an egg. It's not that I'm any better, though. Unfortunately, I haven't inherited my mothers amazing culinary skills.

Matt..

Shards of guilt travel through my spine, bruising me, making me clench my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut in order to ease my own pain. My own problems made me forget all about Matt.

"There's no use in talking about what could have been, mom," I sigh, still staring at the text on my phone, "Because things are different now, and there's no going back."

I give her a quick glance through my eyelashes before standing up and walking into my old bedroom to get ready. It's time to pay a visit to my soon to be ex husband again.

* * *

><p>When I come at the Empire, Stefan is not inside, but one of the waitresses points me towards the storage room. I find it easily, without much trouble, especially after hearing all the clattering.<p>

"Shit," he curses under his breath when something falls on the floor and, by the sound of it, splatters all over it.

"Oh, look, you made a mess," I lean against the door frame and cross my arms over my chest, "How surprising."

"Hello, wifey," I can sense a smile in his voice, "Nice to see you again. And it didn't take you six years to show your face again!"

There's cream cheese splattered all over the floor in front of him. He's holding the empty bucket helplessly, trying to figure out his next move.

"Funny," I make a grimace, one he can't see, "I take it you know why I'm here."

I move away from the door in order to close them in case this conversation gets too passionate and wordy for everyone's ears.

When the doors fall closed, he tenses visibly.

"Elena, please tell me you didn't just close the door," he stands up on his feet, slowly turning around, his eyes wide. "Of course you did," he puts his palm over his forehead, creasing its skin with his fingertips.

I furrow my brows. "Why?"

"They can't be opened from the inside. I've been meaning to fix that, I just never got around to it.." I don't know why he feels the need to excuse himself to me, and I don't know why I feel the need to tell him that _that's so typical of him_.

When the full weight of his words presses down on me, I murmur incoherently. "Well, call someone then."

He cocks his eyebrow at me. "If you check your phone, you'll realize that there's no signal in here."

My eyes go wide with horror, and my lips begin to tremble. "So, in other words, we're stuck here?"

"Yup," he nods, squeezing his lips together, "Until someone finds us. At least it gives us some time to talk, to catch up. So, honey, how are you? How's life?" he smirks mischievously.

"Did you sign our divorce papers?" I shoot at him.

He gives me a pointed look before sighing loudly and walking over to the other side of the room. He puts the bucket back on the shelf and takes the mop into his hands to clean the cream cheese still splattered across the floor.

"No," he says firmly, "I was actually going through it.."

I laugh under my breath because I find that hard to believe. "You're trying to tell me you've read 38 pages of legal nonsense?"

"Yes. Several times."

"But why?" the skin on my forehead creases. It's not like I want anything from him, except his signature that releases me from him legally.

"To find out why I'm singing those papers in the first place.." he looks at me over his shoulder.

I avert my gaze. "Stefan.."

"You just left, Elena," I can see him turn away from the mess on the floor, to me, "You left in the middle of the night, leaving nothing but a note."

I turn my head in his direction, my face a mask of determination and seriousness, but underneath it all, I'm falling apart, bit by bit. "Before that night, how many times did I tell you that I can't live like that anymore?" I ask him, my voice wavering. I try to steady it, but I fail miserably.

He swallows hard, his eyes gleaming underneath the white, fluorescent light of the storage room. I can see every line, every freckle, every bump and every depth of his face. I can see all the marks the time left on him, all the familiar things, like the place where my fingertips would just sink into his skin. "You know I wasn't in the position to - "

"And I was?" I interrupt him, raising my voice. "Do you want to know which thought was the last thing on my mind before I fell asleep those last couple of weeks?" I ask, but I never expect him to answer me, and he knows it. "Do you think that I'm a monster? Is that why you disregard my pain so much? Is that why you minimize it to such extremes, why you think your pain is so much bigger than mine?" tears start welling in my eyes as I remember that feeling. It's familiar and new all at the same time, because I've buried it down a long time ago, denying its existence. Letting it out all at the same time is a bit overwhelming but, I guess, long overdue. "Do you really blame me for what happened? For something I had no control over? For something that ripped me apart as much as it ripped you? So yes, Stefan, I left, because I couldn't feel like that anymore. I was blaming myself enough as it is, I couldn't stand you blaming me as well. I was afraid that, if I stay, we'll only grow to hate each other, and I loved you," I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with much needed air, "I loved us, and everything we had, too much to let that happen."

He just stares at me, shocked and surprised by this revelation of my, his fingers convulsing, his lips trembling.

"I never blamed you," he states, his voice jumping up and down, as if he's too frightened to speak, "I never thought you're not in pain, or that you're a monster," he looks down, like he's guilty of something. Maybe he has finally realized that he is.

"Then why did you act like it?" my voice is full of pain and sorrow and regret, maybe even longing. Like I'm begging him for an explanation, to turn back the time and make things right, to act differently, to treat me differently.

"I don't know!" he yells, more at himself than at me, like I've finally pushed him over the edge. "Don't you think I hate myself for the way I treated you? Don't you think I regret it every single second of every single day? I should have been there for you! We were supposed to lean on each other, but instead, I crushed you! I would give anything to turn back the time and do things differently," he presses both of his palms against his face, hiding himself from me. "When I woke up the next day and you weren't there, I thought that you'll come back, so I waited. And I waited, and I prayed for you to come back, until it dawned on me that you're not coming back. So I went to your parents to help me find you, but they refused," he doesn't say it angrily, but more as a fact, which would have surprised me if my mother hadn't told me the same earlier today. "So what did I do then?" he moves his hands away from his face, throwing them to the side, "I packed my bags and went to New York."

I fix my gaze on him, my eyes wide, my pupils dilating out of surprise and confusion, as if I'm unable to comprehend the words that he's saying.

"My plan was to find you and to beg you to come home. I knew that New York is big, but," he looks down and chuckles, playing with his fingers, "I didn't know it's that big. I came there and I didn't know where to start, I've never felt more lost in my life than back then. So I went home, and things were pretty bad until they got better. I made some wrong choices," he looks to the side, as if he's trying to look as far away from me as possible.

He's probably referring to April, but he doesn't say anything, so neither do I.

"And I've made some right ones," he looks up, spreading his arms, and our eyes meet, "That's how this place was born. It rose like a phoenix from ashes of what we left behind."

"You can't - " I say, trying to keep myself from crying. I'm angry at myself for leaving, a part of me has always been angry at myself for not staying just a bit longer, for not being stronger, for not fighting. I'm angry at him for not looking for me longer. I'm angry at my father for not telling me where to find me.

All these years, a part of me has always been longing for Stefan, but I hid it as well as the rest of the feelings haunting me. If not better.

"Don't put all of that on me. I know that I left, and not just to my parents house, or across the street. I know that I moved to the other side of the country, but I would never have moved if you didn't make me to, so don't put all of that on me," I warn him, turning all of my feelings of longing into something vile and rotten.

He furrows his brows, the skin on his forehead creasing, "And I'm not trying to. What I'm trying to do here is explain to you why I still haven't signed those papers. Because I'm not ready to give up on us."

His words make my bones shake. There are huge goosebumps on my skin, making me shake like a leaf. I wonder is fear visible on my face, or am I doing a good job in hiding it? "You gave up on us six years ago," I tell him, not to hurt him, but to make him realize that it's over. It's been over for a long time now.

He flinches, my words achieving opposite of my desired effect - they force themselves at him with such speed that they manage to drill a hole inside of him.

"It's been way too long, Stefan," I say warmly, trying to fix my mistake, "We've both moved on. We're different people than we were back then. We were just a couple of kids, taking a bite bigger than they can handle."

He takes a step forward, and my first instinct is to take a step back, but there's nowhere to go. I don't want him near, not because I don't trust him, but because I don't trust myself around him.

"Elena, I know you as long as I know myself. You're a part of the first memory that I have from my childhood," he takes another step forward, followed by another one, but this time I'm too mesmerized by his words to even think about stepping back. "I've loved you in so many different ways over the years, and you appeared in so many different roles throughout the course of my life. There was time when you were so close to me that I couldn't separate you from myself as another human being. And I know that a lot of time has passed, and that you've changed, and that I don't know everything there is to know about you," he's standing in front of me now, so close that I can feel his breath on my skin and the warmth of his body colliding with mine. "But I still know some things, and those that are unfamiliar to me, I want to learn them all."

He lifts his hand and starts pulling his fingers over the length of my arm, which makes my breath catch inside of my throat, making it hard for me to breathe.

"Elena," he says silently, as if my name is a secret no one else is supposed to hear, "I'm going to kiss you now," he says.

I'm frightened and elated at the same time.

He shouldn't be kissing me, and I shouldn't be kissing him.

But I want to. _Oh, how I want to._

Maybe because I can't remember our last kiss. I spent months trying to remember the last time his lips were on mine, but I couldn't. Each kiss I remembered didn't seem like goodbye at all.

"I have six years worth of kisses in me," he whispers, "So if you don't want me to kiss you, say something. Do something."

I should say no. I should push him away. I'm not his to kiss anymore.

But I don't do either of these things. I don't do anything, actually.

I just stare straight forward, into his chest, until he puts one of his fingers under my chin and lifts my whole head up to look me in the eyes.

He's as afraid as I am, but out of different reasons.

He starts lowering his lips on mine, and I don't know if they tremble out of fear or excitement.

_Just this once,_ I tell myself.

_No one will know. Just this once. For the last time. For goodbye._

But when his lips fall on mine, when he starts kissing me, it feels like everything but a goodbye.

I remember his lips, I remember their shape and size, I remember how smooth they are when colliding with mine. Like there's a patch of silk between us.

He's bigger now, stronger, more muscular than the last time, so when he puts his arms around me, I instantly fall closer to him. It feels like I'm falling into him.

I don't know why I'm surprised when I start kissing him back, when kissing him is all I've ever known.

All the time disappears, our current lives, our differences. All of a sudden nothing else matters anymore, and we're 17 again, kissing by the swim hole, in his bedroom, on my parents couch, in his truck.

My hands instinctively go around his neck and my fingers lose themselves in a sexy mess of his hair. And this time, he doesn't complain about it.

Instead, he pulls me closer, and I feel like I can hear his blood boiling inside of his body, pumping into his already excited heart.

He squeezes his fingers around my waist, digging them into my flesh, holding on to me tightly.

Kissing Stefan feels like nothing has changed. Everything about this situation is so familiar, normal, but yet equally exciting.

But, something has changed, and when I finally remember what, I put my palms against his chest and push myself away from him.

"Stefan.." I say, trying to catch the breath he stole from me.

He looks confused, like he can't figure out what just happened.

"I can't," I tell him, looking him in the eyes, swallowing hard.

"There's someone else."

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: I'm sorry for taking me this long to update, but it seems like there's just one thing after another in my life. I hope the revelations in this chapter made out for it, though ;)<em>**


	10. Chapter 10

_"How about spin the bottle?" Tyler proposes, trying to hide a huge grin from his face._

_Caroline rolls her eyes, moving her lips into an unnatural position, before giving him a condemning look. "You just want to shove your tongue down as many throats as possible," she says, disgusted by the very idea._

_He looks at her, confused by her statement, as if wanting to do that is such a bad thing. "Well," he starts seriously, but then his eyes start glimmering with excitement, "Yeah!" he turns his head towards the rest of the group and pretty much all the guys burst into laughter, with Tyler in charge._

_Her lips part a little, as if she really expected him to deny it, and she gives me I-can't-believe-you-dated-this-jerkface look. I just shrug, downing the small amount of vodka left on the bottom of my cup. It's not like I want to kiss my ex-boyfriend half drunk in a corn maze, but there's nothing I can do about it - it's the end of the school party and people are so drunk already that some mistakes are bound to be made._

_"What about truth or dare?" Caroline proposes, desperately trying to avoid having to make out with someone she wouldn't ever make out with under any other circumstances._

_"Everyone always dare someone to kiss someone else," Tyler points out, and he has a point, since there's not much to do here, in the middle of a maze, in our middle of nowhere town. "So it's basically spin the bottle, just with us having to hear Sean confess he had sex with his cousin."_

_"Third knee cousin!" Sean yells from the crowd, and everyone burst into laughter again._

_"That doesn't make it better, man!" Tyler retorts grudgingly, angry that all of the attention has been stripped away from him._

_I guess everyone accept that we will be playing spin the bottle after all because they start forming a circle, and some guy chugs down almost half liter of beer in one breath to free a plastic bottle for us to play with. Caroline grabs my wrist and pulls me down next to her. The guy who drank all that beer is the first one to spin the bottle, and it points towards some girl whose name I would probably know if I weren't buzzed. His buddies start cheering, but the girl frowns before smiling politely and giving him a quick peck on the lips._

_Stefan appears behind me and replaces my empty cup with a full one._

_"Spin the bottle, eh?" he says softly. Stefan's voice always turns extra soft when he gets slightly buzzed, like he's trying to put you to sleep._

_Before I'm able to say anything in return, even though I have no idea what I would say, a bunch of guys start shouting in our direction._

_"Yo, Stefan, over here!" he drags his look lazily from me, to them, before giving me an apologetic look, like he's asking for my permission to go play with the other boys._

_I shrug. "Go," not that I care. But I do care. I like that we're friends. I like when he chooses me over them. I like when he decides to spend his time with me rather than with them, lately more than ever._

_He gives me a light smile before standing on his feet and taking a running step towards the rest of the football team._

_It's hard to keep track who gets to kiss who. All I get to hear are cheers and shock and laughter._

_At least until Rebekah shouts, with her squeaky voice and over the top accent - "Stefan, baby, come 'ere, I get to kiss you!"_

_Her little possy starts clapping and shouting cheers of support, while I can see Caroline looking at me from the corner of her eyes. I monitor Stefan's reaction through my lashes, pretending to play with my cup._

_He looks up at her, confused by her sudden statement, but she doesn't seem to notice. She saunters over to him, bumping people on the back of their heads with her knees. When she comes so close that she's basically standing in front of him, he realizes that he has no other choice but to stand up as well._

_She flops her arms around his neck, digging her fingers into his skin, and pulls his lips down on hers, aggressively. Some guys from the football team cheer, some stay calm and collected, while I desperately try to see is there any tongue involved._

_He's the first one to pull away, obviously, and she looks a bit disappointed after he does so. Rose hands her the plastic bottle, and she pushes it in Stefan's hands._

_"Your turn, gorgeous," she winks at him and goes back to her place, giggling. Her friends greet her as if she just won the Nobel Prize._

_I look at Caroline, who's still watching me curiously, trying to detect something that's obviously not there, or I'm just that good at hiding it, and mouth the word gorgeous to her, while rolling my eyes._

_She huffs, sporting a tiny grin on her lips._

_While we're making fun or Rebekah and her choice of words, we don't even notice that everyone have stopped talking and are looking in our direction._

_Stefan has spun the bottle - and it's pointing right at me._

_Over the years, Stefan and me were lucky - whenever one of us spun the bottle, it never pointed to the other one. Well, once, while I was with Tyler, and Stefan kissing me would break some sacred bro code between them. "The only way I'd let you kiss my girl is if you were another girl," I remember Tyler saying, and those word shook my bones with anger. That's one of the reasons why I broke up with him - he always thought he has to let me do something._

_People are staring at me, in silence, patiently awaiting my next move._

_"We don't have to do this," he says with that soft voice of his, and all eyes turn to him._

_Before anyone else complains, I retort cockily. "Why? You afraid you're going to like it?"_

_I would have never said that if I haven't consummated at least five cups of vodka by now. Still, I'm slightly buzzed, not drunk to the point that I have no idea what I'm saying._

_I hear few gasps, the loudest one coming from Caroline who's sitting right next to me._

_Other girls wouldn't dare to talk to him like this. If he told them that they don't have to kiss him, which is as close to refusal as you can get, they would run off crying._

_I get up on my feet and start walking towards him on my toes. I've left my shoes in his car, saying I don't need them, out of some reason. As it turns out, I do need them, because the ground is covered with tiny rocks that are now hammering themselves into my soles._

_I'm wearing denim shorts and Ramones top with its fringes falling across my stomach. I must look like a savage, or a homeless person at least._

_"Come on, Stefan," I tease him, smirking, "What harm can one kiss do?"_

_He stares at me, intensely, before answering - "Fine."_

_His answer throws me back a little._

_I don't know why his refusal angered me. Why wouldn't we kiss? Why would different rules apply to us? It's just one kiss, it's not going to destroy us. We're not going to fall madly in love or start up a chain reaction of events._

_Why doesn't he want to kiss me?_

_But now that I'm standing in front of him, ready to smack our lips together, I don't want to kiss him either._

_I'm afraid of what it might mean, of what it might make me feel, I'm afraid that I'm the one who's going to like it too much, and that he's not going to like it at all._

_But I'm not the one who makes the first step. My feet stay on the ground, not moving, not even an inch. I feel like I'm sinking in._

_One step is all it takes for us to stand as close as two human beings can, body to body. My mind goes straight to that day in my backyard, that moment we've never discussed or brought up again, that moment when we came so close to kissing each other. I spent the rest of the day in my room crying because I've felt like this changes everything, as if something is shifting, as if I'm losing my best friend. My mom is the only person I've talked with about it, and she told me that kissing him doesn't mean he'll stop being my best friend, but that he'll simply become something more. And that made me feel significantly better, but when I saw him the next day he didn't bring it up, so neither did I._

_He lifts one of his hands and the tips of his fingers flutter above my elbow. His touch is so gentle that I have no idea have I imagined it, or is he actually touching me._

_I look down at where his skin is supposedly meeting mine, but before I'm able to do anything, to convince myself of anything, his lips are on mine._

_He kisses me, gently, softly, slowly, and I'm surprised when I find myself kissing him back. Why am I surprised? I shouldn't be surprised when, I realize at that moment, this is what I've wanted to do for a long, long time._

_He tastes so, so, so sweet, like Harshey's kisses and maple syrup on a hot, thick pancake, like first rays of the morning sun on your skin or the happiness of catching a shooting star. His lips, soft like satin, remind me of all the good memories we ever had together._

_It's time to pull away, our time is over, our kiss should have ended a long time ago. It wasn't even a kiss, it was a peck on the lips, so soft, so quick, like butterfly clapping its wings. A butterfly kiss._

_But he doesn't let me pull away, as if he can sense that I don't want to pull away either. Maybe he's my genie, fulfilling one of my three wishes._

_But oh, if all of his kisses can make me feel like this, then I would spend all of those three wishes on kissing him._

_He puts his hands on my hips, but somehow they circle around my body and all of a sudden his arms are wrapped around my waist. He kisses me stronger, deeper, rougher, he kisses me in a way that I'm glad he's holding me, because my bones have liquefied and I'm pretty sure I'm unable to stand on my own._

_I press my palms against his chest to steady myself, because all the blood from my brain has rushed into my heart, which is beating wildly, like the cries of an Amazonian woman. I'm dizzy and lost and I have to hold on to him to fight the urge of falling into him._

_People around us start cheering and shouting. Some are even laughing; not cruelly, but amused._

_"Fuckin' finally!" someone yells._

_I try not to listen to them, because I'm holding my dreams between my lips, and that's all that matters._

_"Wait, aren't they bangin' already?" Sean's words sneak themselves past my barriers and travel inside of my brain, making a commotion._

_Some people laugh and, this time, their laughter changes in length and form, which makes me stop the kiss. My palms on his chest harden, like a stone, and I push myself away from him, our lips detaching._

_I can feel the cold wind on my hot and bothered mouth. I want to close it shut, but I need air, because he stole everything I've stored inside of my lungs._

_Something's missing. The skin of my lips is growing thicker and harder; it's lonely and it's weeping._

_I look him in the eyes, he seems to be awaiting answers from me, while I expect the same from him._

_Something inside of me snaps - dreams become hazy, excitement converts back to fear, and my want only confuses me more than it used to._

_I back away from him, turn around, and start walking with a running step. I can see his lips in my mind, forming my name even before I hear him saying it out loud._

_I make my way through the maze. I don't know where I'm going. Maybe it's better that way._

_He says my name couple more times, each time louder._

_I stop when I reach his truck, like I've hit a dead wall. I turn around, and there he is, standing in front of me. I cross my arms across my chest, taking a defensive stance, before saying - "Can you please take me home?"_

_"Elena.." he says my name pleadingly._

_I tear my look away from him. "Stefan, please, just take me home."_

_He doesn't say anything after that, but instead he sighs and nods, taking his car keys out of his pocket._

_We stay silent for the entire drive, him looking straight ahead, me looking through the window, even though darkness is the only thing I can see. When we reach my house, he parks the car in front of it and turns the engine off. I know that I should leave before he says anything, but I don't. I'm too curious about what he has to say to me._

_"I told you we don't have to do it," he says, his voice low, but not soft anymore. Instead it's rough, serious, scary.. like whispers from your nightmares._

_"I know," I say, looking down at my lap, at my dark skin kissed by early summer sun, "That wouldn't solve the problem."_

_"And the problem is..?" he asks, curious to know the answer._

_"The fact that I wanted to kiss you," I answer honestly, "The fact that I've wanted to kiss you for quite some time now."_

_Silence fills the small space of his truck. Silence keeps my head bowed down. Silence crawls inside of me and tightens my throat shut._

_"I see," he says after several moments of silence, moments that have stretched time into a never ending void, swallowing me whole, making me feel like I'm fluttering into eternity. "The truth is, I've wanted to kiss you for quite some time now as well."_

_His answer makes me raise my head and look at him with expression of shock and disbelief on my face. "You have?" I ask, and his grimace tells me that I shouldn't be so surprised by that fact._

_"Yeah," he nods, confirming his previous statement, "Lately, all I've been doing is thinking about kissing you," he confesses._

_I can't believe he's been going through the same stuff I've been going through and that I haven't noticed it._

_"But that's wrong!" I argue him, "We're friends! And friends don't kiss!" I know how childish and ignorant I sound, but I can't find any better words to describe how I feel about this whole situation._

_"I want to do more than just kiss you," he says, words barely getting out of his mouth, as if there's an invisible barrier inside of his throat._

_"What do you mean?" I ask in horror._

_A light smile makes his face lines pop up, making his whole face brighter once he realizes how awfully wrong that sounded. "What I mean is, I want to be with you," he bites his lower lip, his eyelids fluttering, "As more than just friends."_

_As more than just friends._

_What if something goes wrong? What if we try, and fail, and realize that there's no going back? What happens then? Then I lose him._

_But this way.. this way I don't have him the way I want to have him._

_I lose him in both scenarios, either by giving up, or by never giving in. By giving up, losing him is certain, by giving in.. the possibilities are endless._

_"I want.." I whisper, barely hearing myself. I clear my throat, because this is something that needs to be heard, which is why I raise my voice. "I want that as well."_

* * *

><p>His lips still hover above mine, but I can feel the change in his posture. His whole body tenses, especially the muscles still near my skin. I can hear his breath getting caught in his throat, but he releases it soon, probably to hide his initial reaction.<p>

He moves further away from me, and I try to hide my disappointment, both from him and myself.

"His name is Matt," I say, not really sure why I decided to share that piece of information with him. It's like my brain came up with those words, but they never got a permission to crawl out of my mouth.

Stefan's eyes widen with shock, discomfort, surprise.. probably every emotion known to mankind.

"We're engaged. He proposed before I came here. Actually, that's why I came here.." now I'm just rambling. Words are knocking each other, stepping over one another in a hurry to get out of my mouth. "To ask you for a divorce. So I can get married."

But I never asked him. I commanded him. I showed up and demanded from him to put his signature on a bunch of papers, no explanation. I thought not seeing each other for six years is an explanation good enough, but I never took how he might be feeling into account.

_Say something. Please, say something_, I plead silently, in the privacy of my own mind.

But before he gets a chance to say anything, in case he ever planned to, the doors fly open, and a soft, young voice says - "Mr. Salvatore, I - "

One of the waitresses opens the door, the same one who told me that I can find him here, and when she sees us, staring at each other, me shaking like a leaf, and him with a dead look in his eyes, she stops in place.

"I'm sorry, I - " she starts, but I interrupt her mid sentence.

"It's okay, I was just leaving," I head for the door, and she steps aside for me to pass freely. He doesn't try to stop me.

He doesn't even say a word.

* * *

><p><em><strong>STEFAN'S POV<strong>_

She is so soft and comfortable. When I wrap my arms around her, I sink into the elastic of her skin and lose myself in a place between heaven and hell.

How can someone so tiny feel so big, so strong, so powerful and important in my arms? She is made out of force ten times bigger than this entire planet, she is made out of particles which fell from the surface of the moon and sand that stars shook off before the sun ate them; they've been traveling through the galaxy for millions of years, through time and space, which is why, when you look into her eyes, you see planets still undiscovered, things one simple human being can't even begin to comprehend.

In Elena there's a beauty humans won't ever discover, no matter how far they travel, no matter the size of the ships they build.

The tips of my fingers push into her flesh and I can feel her bones shaking with excitement and relief. She becomes so fragile in my arms and I'm afraid that she will fall apart into pieces and that I won't know how to put her back again.

_Please don't protest to me kissing you, please don't protest to me kissing you_, I plead in my mind, the words moving by the speed of light, before my lips fall down on hers. The feeling is underwhelming, at least until she starts kissing me back.

Pressing my lips against hers feels just like kissing a memory, a print on a pillow, an image disappearing through a thin air.

But when her lips start moving, synchronized with mine, everything inside of me comes alive.

I'm on a roller coaster of emotion as her skin keeps rubbing gently against mine, as her breath travels down my throat, into my lungs, and I get a new, fresh piece of her to carry around with myself.

After six whole years, I finally feel complete again. My fingers graze against the hem of her shirt, exposing the small of her back, and I can tell where her spine begins. She puts her hands on my chest and my heart starts bouncing against her open palm.

Then, she pushes me away. Or she pushes herself away from me.

I don't know how much time passes until she says those words - _there's someone else_ - because looking at it now it feels like seconds, and then it feels like an eternity.

The image in front of my eyes start breaking like a mirror and she disappears with the broken fragments. She's rambling, talking about things I don't want to know, each word she says I completely throw out of my vocabulary, pretending that I don't understand what she's saying. _Maybe that will make it less real._

It doesn't.

My thoughts become too loud, and her voice turns into background noise. I don't know which is worse.

_There's someone else._

_His name is Matt._

_He proposed._

_That's why I came here._

_Divorce._

_So I can get married._

Those sentences keep replaying themselves in my head, like a broken record, long after she leaves the room.

* * *

><p>I start crying as soon as I get back home. Tears started gathering in my eyes after I left the storage room we've been trapped in, but I've managed to hold them in.<p>

I fall down, exhausted by my own thoughts, victimized by my own mind, and fall asleep on a pillow drenched with tears. When I wake up, the sun is replaced by the moon, and there are gazillion of stars circling around it, like its faithful minions.

I get up, dizzy and disoriented, still in my day clothes, all creased and crumbled. My hair is a mess, and there's a dried trail of tears on both of my cheeks. I don't have to look at myself in the mirror to confirm it, I can feel it.

I open my bedroom door, because the room feels too small, too stuffy, too full to fit me inside as well, and I stumble over to the living room, lead by the light buzz of our tv.

I find my dad half asleep in his armchair.

"Dear God, Elena!" he exclaims when he sees me standing there, looking like I just arrived from a battlefield. "You look like hell. What happened?" he sounds concerned.

"Why didn't you tell me Stefan went looking for me in New York?" I ask. Not angrily, not accusatory. I just...ask.

He tightens his jaw, his expression turning serious and hard. "Because it doesn't matter anymore."

No, it matters.

It _shouldn't_ matter, but somehow, out of some reason, it does.

"Why didn't you tell him where I am?" I ask curiously, wanting to hear it from him.

"Because I decided him showing up at your doorstep is not what you needed at the moment."

"That wasn't your call to make."

"And giving him your address wasn't my call to make either," he argues, "When it comes to this, I can't win," he sighs. "I wanted to tell him, after he came back, after he.." he coughs, "After I saw how destructive he was towards himself. But then he got better, and opened Will's Playground, and everything - "

"What?" I ask, interrupting him in the middle of his sentence, horrified by the sound of that name.

He looks up at me, his eyes traveling to mine, buzzing from the intensity of my voice. "Before Empire, there was Will's Playground," I squeeze my eyes shut, clenching my fingers into a fist, "It was for children only. After it expanded, Stefan found it.. inappropriate. You didn't know?"

_No, I did not know that he.._

I shake my head no before opening my eyes. "I have to go."

"Elena.." he starts, trying to stop me, to keep me here.

"I'll be fine," I reassure him, even though I don't believe in it myself, "There's just someplace else I need to be right now."

I turn around and take a running step towards the front door, disappearing into the night. There's a chilly breeze outside, and the night is so dark that I can barely see a finger in front of my nose. Broken street lamp is buzzing while producing barely visible light. I can feel the tears welling in my eyes again, and this time I have no choice but to let them out.

I know where I'm going. I can draw a path in my mind. I remember everything about this town - I just like to pretend that I don't.

It's a ten minute walk from my house. Up the hill, where the grass reaches your knees.

One, two, three steps, add several more, and I'm up.

I'm shaking, but not from the cold. From memories. The chilly wind is not responsible for the goosebumps on my skin.

I move among small stone tablets, trying not to step on any of them, out of respect.

I know where I'm going - fourth row, second parcel.

I'm close.

_I miss him._

I'm sorry.

I never meant to.

It's all my fault.

Please forgive me.

My breath gets caught into my throat. My lungs are empty.

It's hard for me to stay alive that way.

_Good._

I deserve it.

The tears are trickling down my neck. They're everywhere.

I fall on my knees, bruising them on the edge of a stone.

I sob.

"Hi, Will," I say softly, quietly.

The stone is cold. So was he when I touched him that night. When I yelled his name and reached for his hand.

Angels blank, cold eyes are piercing through me.

I close my eyes.

"Mommy's here."


End file.
